


And So It Begins

by JanharaMeepWatson



Category: BBC Sherlock, The Tudors
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/F, Gen, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Somewhat royalty AU, Tudor AU, appearances by Tudors characters, mostly focused on BBC Sherlock, switchlock, teenlock for a bit, with The Tudors showtime tv series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 14:50:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1230481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JanharaMeepWatson/pseuds/JanharaMeepWatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is the youngest son of King Richard and Queen Charlotte Holmes.  At the age of 5, he is sent away to Baker Castle, as is tradition.  David Watson, King Richard's friend and physician is sent to be Sherlock's personal doctor.  David takes his 7-year-old son, John with him, hoping that he might be able to bring young Sherlock out of his shell.  He never anticipated how close the two would become.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first Sherlock AU/Crossover. It's mostly going to be an AU, but some of The Tudors characters will make one or two chapter appearances. Though I am well aware of actual Tudor history, I'm taking it from the TV Series for this fic. It's more entertaining that way. Before we start: I do not own BBC Sherlock or any of the characters belonging to it, nor do i own Showtimes, The Tudors or any of the characters belonging to it.
> 
> Enjoy :)

[Sherlock: 5; John: 7]

-Chapter One- 

David Watson bustled through the corridors of Diogenes Castle. He pushed past several courtiers as he made his way to the King’s audience room.  When he got there, a page announced his arrival, and he was shown through to the King’s private room.  He found not only the King there, but also the Queen and their youngest son.

“Your Majesties,” David said, bowing. “Your Grace.” He said to the little boy, giving him a wink.  The boy smiled, then shyly hid his face in his mother’s shoulder.  David chuckled at this.

“David, thank you for coming,” King Richard said warmly.

“Of course, Richard.” David nodded.  Since they were in private, formalities could be dropped.  The king and his physician were – after all – very good friends. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Richard glanced at his wife, Charlotte, who nodded her head in understanding. She stood, carrying her little son with her, and took him outside to play in the gardens.  Richard stood by the window, watching them and David stood beside him.

“You know Sherlock’s just turned five,” Richard said softly.

“Is he five already?” David asked, hoping to lighten the king’s heart.

Richard smiled. “Time flies, doesn’t it?” He agreed. “David, now that he’s five, it’s time to send him off to Baker Castle.”

David nodded. “Of course, I remember when you sent Prince Mycroft there.”

Richard nodded.  “You are also aware that Sherlock isn’t the most healthy of children.  He falls ill easily.”

David nodded, but kept silent, allowing Richard to continue.

“David, it is my wish that you accompany Sherlock to Baker Castle as his personal Physician.” Richard said, turning to his friend. “I trust you more than anyone to watch out for him, and Sherlock is familiar with you.  I don’t want him to be frightened by a new physician he’s never met.”

David smiled and inclined is head. “I’d be glad to go with him, and I’m glad that you trust me to watch over him.  I know how special he is to you.”

Richard smiled and stood straighter, as if a burden had been lifted off of his frame. “Sherlock is being taken to Baker Castle tomorrow morning. I know it’s short notice, but would you be able to accompany him then?”

“Of course,” David nodded.  He then had a thought. “Richard, might I ask you of something?”

“Anything, old friend.” Richard said, waiting for his friend to continue.

“You know my son John, he’s seven now, and I’m overseeing his education personally. He wants to become a physician like me.” David began. “Would it be alright for me to bring him with me to Baker Castle?”

“Of course, David.” Richard nodded, smiling. “And who knows, maybe he can help bring Sherlock out of his little shell a bit.”

“Maybe,” David nodded, looking out the window where Sherlock was showing his mother a leaf he’d found on the ground.  “Since I’m leaving tomorrow, might I go home today to get my things and fetch John?"

“Certainly.” Richard said. “Once you return, I’ll have your things packed right away for the journey tomorrow. 

“Thank you.” David said. He then gave Richard a hug. “Don’t worry, Sherlock will be fine.”

“Thank you, David.” Richard said, hugging him back.

David smiled at him, then waved at Charlotte through the window before sending his page to get his carriage ready.  He gathered his medical journals he’d kept on Sherlock to review on the 5-hour journey home, and then went to the front of the castle where his carriage was waiting.  He thanked his page and gave him a coin before climbing in and settling into his seat for the journey. 

Five hours later, the carriage pulled up to the front of the Watson Manor. It had originally been a smaller country house, but through David’s favor with the king and his unfailing loyalty to him, David had earned enough to have a large manor built. The country house was still there, behind the Manor where it was used as a guesthouse.  David thanked the coachman as he got out of the carriage, and then made his way into the house.  As soon as he closed the door, he heard a pair of feet rushing towards him, and smiled as his eldest daughter, Harry, came running at him.

“You’re home!” She said happily.

David smiled and hugged her tightly. “Just for a little bit though,” He told her gently. “Where is your mother?”

“She’s in the sitting room.” Harry said, practically dragging her father in that direction.  David chuckled, and followed her.

His wife, Margaret Watson, was sitting in her chair, working on some embroidery for a new pillow.  When she saw David entering though, she set it aside in her basket and stood to embrace him. 

“David! I didn’t know you were going to be home!” She said in surprise. 

“Only for a short visit,” David said.  He then turned to his daughter. “Harry would you mind stepping out for a moment? I need to speak with your mother about something.” 

“Sure,” She nodded, and then went upstairs to her bedroom. 

“David, is something wrong?” Margaret asked, concerned.

“No,” David assured her.  They sat down, and he took her hand in his. “The king has asked me to accompany Prince Sherlock to Baker Castle as his personal physician.” He told her. “And he said that I could bring John with me to continue his education.” 

“Oh! David that’s wonderful!” She smiled. “But Baker Castle is so far away, and John’s so young.” 

“I know,” David nodded. “But you know how badly he wants to be a doctor, and I want to continue overseeing his education myself.” 

“I understand.” She nodded. “When are you leaving?” 

“I have to take John to Diogenes Castle tonight, and then we journey to Baker Castle tomorrow morning.” David explained.

Margaret nodded, and then stood up. “Why don’t you go tell him? I’ll get his things packed up.” 

David nodded, and then stood up and kissed his wife. “Thank you dear,” 

Margaret smiled. “You’re welcome.  This may be a good opportunity for John too.  I know he’s young, but we all knew he’d go to court someday. This can be good practice for him.” 

“That’s what I was thinking,” David agreed. 

Margaret smiled at her husband, and then went off to call some servants together to help her pack John’s things.  David went upstairs, and knocked on his son’s door. 

“John, are you in there?”

David heard a book being set down, and then quick little feet as John scrambled to his door.  He threw it open, and then jumped into his father’s arms.

“Papa, you’re home!” He cheered.

David chuckled and kissed the top of his head. “Can I come in? I want to talk to you about something.”

John nodded, and then sat back down at his desk.  David pulled a chair over next to him and peered over at his tidy notes.

“You’ve been practicing.” He noted. 

John nodded and showed David his papers.  David had started teaching him Latin, and John had been carefully copying down some passages that his father had given him, once in Latin, and then again translated into English. 

“Are they good?” John asked.

“Very good,” David nodded, praising his son.  He then set the notes back down and looked at John. “John, today the King asked a favor of me.” He began. “He asked me to go to Baker Castle with his youngest son to be his personal physician." 

“Oh,” John’s face fell. “So you’re going far away?”

“Yes,” David nodded. “But the King said that you could come with me, if you like.”

John’s eyes brightened up. “Yes! Please papa, can I go? Can I?” He asked, jumping up and down.

David chuckled. “Yes, you can come with me.” 

“Yes!” John jumped in the air and then hugged his father tightly. “When are we leaving?” 

“We’re going to spend the night at Diogenes Castle tonight, then tomorrow morning we’re going to Baker Castle.” David told him. “So hurry and pack your personal things.  Your mother is having your other things packed already.”

John nodded, and quickly began to pack up his personal things such as his notes and his books.  David left him to his work, and went to his own rooms to pack a few things he wanted to take with him. That afternoon, their things were packed onto a cart and tied down so they wouldn’t fall out.  John said goodbye to his mother and his sister, and then he and David got into the carriage.

During the ride, John continually asked questions about what it was like at court. He’d never been, but loved hearing the stories that his father brought home.  David managed to keep him entertained for three hours until John fell asleep in his lap.  David contented himself by reading his journals for the rest of the ride.

When they arrived, David woke John gently.  The seven-year-old was wide-awake in seconds, amazed to see the castle for the first time.  Just as Richard has promised, pages came to transfer their things from their cart to one that the king had provided.  David and John took with them their personal bags and a trunk that had their traveling clothes in them and entered the castle.

John’s eyes were everywhere.  There were rich tapestries all over the walls, and candles were stuck in gleaming holders every few feet.  David had trouble keeping an eye on his son, who kept darting in between the courtiers legs, wanting to see more and more. As he was looking around, he bumped into someone, and looked up to see the Queen.

“Hello there,” She smiled at him.

“Hi,” John said shyly, suddenly looking around for his father. David appeared beside him and took John’s hand.

“Don’t run off like that John.” He chided gently. “The castle is really big, I don’t want you to get lost.”

“Okay papa,” John nodded.

“So this is your John!” Queen Charlotte said to David. “He looks just like you.”

“Thank you,” David said, smiling.

“Are you excited to go to Baker Castle?” the Queen asked John. 

John nodded excitedly. “This is my first time in a castle!” He told her.

“Oh! Do you like it?” She asked, smiling.

“Uhuh!” John grinned.

Charlotte laughed lightly. “Well I’ll let you get on you way then. You have a long trip ahead of you tomorrow.”

“Good night,” David said to her.

“Bye bye!” John waved as he followed his father to his rooms.

That night, David had some trouble getting John to go to sleep. The little boy was just so excited to be sleeping in a real castle, and to be going on a trip to another castle the next morning.  He lay in bed next to his father, talking excitedly about how beautiful the castle was, and about how many people there were all in one place, and how excited he was to see Baker Castle and to be staying with his father.  He finally dozed off to sleep around midnight and stayed curled up next to his father all night long.  In the morning, David let him sleep in as he got their clothes out. John was rather drowsy as his father helped dress him, but then woke up when the pages came to get their trunk. They then ventured to the front of the castle, where the King and Queen were watching everything being readied to go.

“Ah, David!” The king said, seeing his friend approaching. “And this must be John.”

John stood up straight, and then gave the king his best little bow, saying “Your Majesty,” as he did so.  He then stood up, and looked at his father to see if he’d done it right.

“Very good, John.” David said, nodding.  John grinned proudly. “Is everything ready?” He asked Richard.

“Yes,” Richard nodded.  David sensed his worry.

“Don’t worry, Richard.” David said, putting his hand on the king’s shoulder. “Sherlock will be well looked after.”

Richard nodded, and thanked his friend.  Just at that moment, the little Prince came out, dressed in his traveling clothes. Upon seeing his parents, he ran up to them and latched onto his father’s leg.

“Papa, is that the prince?” John asked, tugging on his father’s jacket.

“Yes,” David nodded. “His name is Sherlock.”

John looked at the little boy, and then walked up to him slowly, holding his hand out. “Hi, I’m John.” He said.

Sherlock looked at John’s hand, then up at his father.  Richard nodded to him, and Sherlock took John’s hand and shook it, mumbling his name.

John smiled at the younger boy, and tried to get him to talk while they were waiting for the carriages to be brought around.  When they got there, Sherlock said goodbye to his parents, and then got into his carriage along with his governess.  John and David got into theirs, and then they were off to Baker Castle.

About an hour into the journey, John heard his name being called from ahead of them.  He poked his head out of the carriage window to see Sherlock with his head popped out, waving back at him.  John giggled and waved in return, and then made a funny face at Sherlock.  Sherlock laughed, and then made a face at John.

“What are you doing John?” David asked, watching his son.

“I’m making funny faces with Sherlock.” John giggled.

“Just be careful not to fall out, okay?” David said.

John nodded, and then poked his head back out to giggle with Sherlock.

Halfway through the trip, the procession stopped so everyone could get up and stretch their legs and have a meal.  As soon as he was out of his carriage, Sherlock scurried over to John’s carriage and knocked on the door.

“John! Come out!” He called. “John!”

John got out of the carriage, and smiled at Sherlock. “Hi,” He said.

“It’s time to eat,” Sherlock said, taking John’s hand and leading him to a blanket. John followed him, and they sat side by side as they ate.  David watched in amazement as Sherlock babbled non-stop to John, lisping ever so slightly as he got excited. 

When it was time to get back into the carriages, Sherlock got all fussy because his governess wouldn’t let him ride with John.  David stepped in and said that – if it was alright – John could ride with Sherlock in his carriage.  This cheered Sherlock up considerably, and the two boys clambered into the carriage and sat side by side, already chatting away.

Two hours before they reached Baker Castle, the boys fell asleep. John had his head leaning against the closed window, and Sherlock had his head tucked against John’s shoulder. That is how David found them when he went to get John when they arrived.  He smiled at the two of them, and then woke them gently.

“Papa?” John asked sleepily.

“We’re here John.  It’s time to go inside.” David said, holding his arms out.

John nodded, and helped little Sherlock to sit up and went into his father’s arms.  David carried him to the castle, where the grounds-keepers wife stood.

“Hello, welcome to Baker Castle.  I’m Lady Hudson.” She said.  She was an older woman who had the air of a grandmother about her, though she had no children or grandchildren of her own.  She smiled when she saw John tucked against his father’s shoulder. “I’ll show you to your rooms.  The poor dear must be tired.”

“Thank you,” David said, holding John more securely as he followed Lady Hudson inside.

She showed them their rooms, and then went to show Prince Sherlock to his. John had his own room that was close to his fathers.  They shared a sitting room that had a table, a desk for each of them, and a fireplace. John’s room was to the right, and David’s was to the left.  It comforted the little boy to know that he’d still have his own room, but would be close to his father at the same time.

David and John ate dinner together in their sitting room, and then David helped John to get ready for bed.  Their trunks had been brought into their rooms, but unpacking could wait until the next day. Once John had washed up and changed into his nightshirt, he said his prayers with his father, and then snuggled up into bed with a book.  He had a candle on his bed-side table so that he could read a chapter before going to sleep. David said goodnight, and then went to his own room. 

When John was half-way through his chapter, he heard a soft knock on his door. He set his book aside, and then went to the door and opened it, revealing Prince Sherlock clutching a stuffed toy bumblebee.

“Sherlock! What’s the matter?” He asked, seeing the boy’s distressed expression.

Sherlock came into the room and mumbled something about a nightmare. John closed the door behind him, and then they both got into John’s bed.

“What happened in your nightmare?” John asked softly.

Sherlock shook his head, not wanting to talk about it.  John waited, but it was clear that Sherlock wasn’t going to say anything.  Seeing this, John reached over and patted Sherlock’s back gently.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock asked.

“My papa does this when I have a bad dream,” John explained.

Sherlock nodded, and sure enough his eyes started to droop, and he plopped his head down on a pillow.  John lay down next to him, and kept patting his back until Sherlock was fast asleep. John then got up momentarily to blow out the candle, and then snuggled under the blankets.  Just as he was falling asleep, he felt Sherlock grab onto his nightshirt tightly.  John smiled to himself, and then drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, Lady Hudson was rushing around the castle, searching frantically for the young Prince.  The governess insisted that he’d gone to bed the night before, and was gone when she went to wake him in the morning.  Lady Hudson woke David to ask for his help, and then David – in turn – went to wake John. When he opened John’s door, he saw not one, but two little boys fast asleep.  John was laying on his back, and Sherlock was curled on his side facing John, still clutching onto his nightshirt.  David smiled, and then fetched Lady Hudson, letting her know that he’d found Sherlock.

“Oh good, where is he?” She asked, breathing a sigh of relief.

David put his finger to his lips, telling her to be quiet, and then opened John’s door again.

“Oh look at them,” Lady Hudson said fondly, smiling at the two boys. David then went to the bedside and woke John up gently.

“John, time to get up,” He said.

John yawned, and then opened his eyes. “Morning papa,” He mumbled. He then remembered that Sherlock was right next to him. “He had a bad dream.” He explained.

“And did you help him?” David asked.

John nodded. “I patted his back like you do when I have a bad dream.”

“Very good,” David smiled.

Lady Hudson went to the other side of the bed and tried to wake Sherlock.

Sherlock whined, and mumbled, “Too early,” and curled closer into John’s side.

John giggled, and poked Sherlock’s cheek. “Sherlock, we have to wake up.” He said.

Sherlock swatted his hand away sleepily. “I don’t want to . . .” He complained.

Lady Hudson continued to try to wake up Sherlock, and John tried to get out of bed. He was stopped when he realized that Sherlock had a death grip on his night-shirt.

“Papa, I can’t get up.” John said, trying not to giggle.

“What? Why not?” David asked, laying out John’s clothes.

John giggled softly and pointed to Sherlock’s hand gripping his nightshirt.

“Oh dear,” David chuckled. 

John managed to pry Sherlock’s hand off, and then Lady Hudson got him to wake up enough to take him back to his room to get dressed. John got dressed too, with the help of his father, and then they ate breakfast together in their sitting room.  

“What are we doing today papa?” John asked.

“Well I need to give Prince Sherlock an examination.  Would you like to come with me?” David asked.

John nodded, and got his father’s bag.  David chuckled, and then took John’s hand as they went to Sherlock’s room. Sherlock was just finishing his breakfast when David and John came in.

“Good morning your Grace,” David said to the boy. “Is it alright if I examine you?”

Sherlock nodded, and then sat down on a chair.  David sat across from him, and started by checking Sherlock’s pulse.  When he was getting ready to check Sherlock’s breathing, Sherlock stopped him.

“John too!” He insisted, holding out his wrist.

David smiled, and taught John how to take Sherlock’s pulse and how to count it very carefully.  For the rest of the examination, Sherlock insisted that John check him too.

“You sound much better your Grace,” David said as he cleaned up his things. “I think the ocean air will help.”

Sherlock nodded and swung his feet gently between the chair legs.

When David and John were preparing to leave, Sherlock jumped up.

“John, where are you going?” He asked, a little panicked.

“My papa’s going to teach me Latin.” John said. 

“Oh,” Sherlock’s face fell.

David noticed, and smiled at John.  “I think you can take a day off, John.” He said. “As a reward for copying your notes so well.” 

“Really?” John asked, excited.

David nodded, and then left the boys to play.  He went back to his room, and wrote a note to Richard, explaining how quickly Sherlock had opened up to John and how well they were getting along. 

That night at Diogenes Castle, Richard and Charlotte sat together by the fireplace, reading David’s letter. 

_Your Majesties,_

_It seems that your prayers have been answered.  As we were journeying to Baker Castle, Prince Sherlock opened up almost instantly to John.  They both had their heads sticking out the windows and were making faces at each other for hours. During our break, they sat side by side as they ate.  I don’t think I’ve ever heard Sherlock talk so much to anyone who wasn’t family. For the rest of the journey, John rode with him in his carriage, and they were fast asleep by the time we arrived, all snuggled up next to each other._

_Last night it seems that Sherlock had a nightmare, and he went to John’s room seeking comfort.  I found them fast asleep in John’s bed this morning, and he didn’t want to let go of John’s nightshirt.  Later while I was examining him, he insisted that John check him too.  They’re playing together now in Sherlock’s room._

_I don’t think you have anything to worry about.  Sherlock is doing very well here, and he and John are already thick as thieves.  I can only imagine how much trouble those two are going to cause when they get older. I’ll do my best to send you weekly letters in regards to how Sherlock is doing, and every month I’ll send a report on his health._

_Your friend, David Watson._

Richard set the note down and took Charlottes hand. 

“I think he’ll be just fine,” Charlotte said, smiling.

Richard nodded, comforted that his youngest son would indeed, be just fine.

 


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, before we start: I do not own BBC Sherlock or any of the characters belonging to it, nor do i own Showtimes, The Tudors or any of the characters belonging to it.
> 
> Enjoy! :3

[Sherlock: 8; John: 11]

-Chapter Two-

 Lady Hudson woke early one morning, and made her way to the Prince’s room to wake him as well.  That day, he and John would be traveling to Diogenes Court to partake in the weeklong celebrations for the Crowned Prince’s 18th birthday and betrothal to Princess Anthea. Lady Hudson knocked on the door, and when there was no answer, she pushed it open and stepped into the room. She wasn’t surprised when she found the bed was still made up.  Smiling to herself, she then walked down the hall to John’s room; certain that she’d find both boys snuggled together, fast asleep.

When she entered, she found David already awake and starting a fire to warm their rooms.

“Good morning,” David smiled. “Are you here to get the boys? 

“Yes, how did you guess?” Lady Hudson laughed softly. 

David shrugged, and laughed with her.  Ever since the first night at Baker Castle, the two boys often snuck into each other’s rooms to sleep together.  Three years later, nothing had changed that.  Sometimes they’d just be talking before bed, and they’d both fall asleep in one of their rooms.  No one had the heart to wake and separate them, so they’d just get tucked in together. David went into John’s room to see that his son was just starting to wake up.

“Good morning John,” David smiled.

“Morning dad,” John yawned, rubbing his eyes. 

“Time to get up,” David said. “You’re leaving within the hour.”

John nodded, and slid out of bed.  As he did, Sherlock woke up, and stretched his arms above his head. Lady Hudson took the Prince back to his rooms so he could get dressed as David helped John into his travelling clothes.

“Dad, are you coming with us?” John asked once he was dressed.

“Not to the celebrations.” David said gently.  “I’m going to visit the King and Queen for a little while, then go home.”

“Oh,” John said.

“Don’t worry,” David smiled. “I’ll be coming back here with you and Prince Sherlock.”

John’s face brightened up. “Okay.”

David kissed his forehead. “Do you have everything ready? Where’s your bag?”

John went over to his little table and slung his bag over his shoulder. He’d packed two books and his notebook. “Got it,” John smiled.

“Alright, come on now. Let’s walk to the front.” David stood and took John’s hand.

Sherlock was already waiting for them at the front of Baker Castle. He stood next to Lady Hudson while their things were being packed onto the carriage.  They weren’t taking much, just one trunk of clothes each since they would only be at Diogenes Castle for the week.  Once he spotted John, Sherlock trotted over to him and stayed by his side until it was time to go.

Once everything was secure, John, Sherlock, and David climbed into the carriage.  Just as the door shut, it began to rain.  David knocked on the ceiling, signaling the driver that they were ready. John and Sherlock popped their heads out of the carriage to wave to Lady Hudson as they rolled away.

“Heads in boys, I don’t want you getting sick from being rained on.” David said.

Sherlock and John complied, and sat next to each other on their side of the carriage.  David closed the windows and drew all of the curtains save the one that Sherlock and John were gazing out of.  He busied himself with his medical journals while John and Sherlock watched the raindrops race each other down the glass panels.

Because of the rain, they did not stop halfway between Baker Castle and Diogenes Castle.  Instead, they had their snack inside the carriage and continued on.  David – as usual – had to convince Sherlock to eat more than a bite or two.  The young Prince had never liked eating, but David managed to convince him that if he ate all his food, he’d grow up to be a tall and handsome Prince.

“Will I be taller than John?” Sherlock asked.

David smiled. “I’m certain you will be.  You’re already almost as tall as him. 

Sherlock beamed, while John pouted next to him.  Usually his height didn’t bother him, but he always got a bit touchy when his shortness was pointed out so bluntly.

When they arrived at Diogenes Castle, the rain had thankfully let up. Originally, the King and Queen were supposed to come out to welcome Sherlock, but they’d gotten caught up in an important meeting, and so Mycroft and Anthea were there instead. Sherlock and Mycroft had never quite gotten along, but the Prince did enjoy being around the Princess.

“My goodness you’ve grown!” Anthea exclaimed when he got out.

“Hi Anthea.” Sherlock smiled.  He waited by the carriage until John got out.  He took John’s hand, and the two of them walked to the Crowned Prince and Princess. “This is John." 

“Hello John.” Anthea smiled. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

John giggled, and blushed a little bit.  David came up behind him and ruffled his blond hair affectionately.

“Your Graces,” David said, inclining his head.

“Doctor Watson,” Mycroft nodded. “Will you be staying with us this week?" 

“No,” David shook his head. “I’m going to spend the week at home. I will be returning in time to chaperone the boys back to Baker Castle, though.”

“I see,” Mycroft nodded. “Let’s go inside, little brother. Your room is all set up.”

“What about John?” Sherlock asked, refusing to move until he was sure that his best friend’s room was ready too.

“John will stay in the rooms usually held by his father.” Mycroft said.

Sherlock frowned. “That’s too far away.” He stated.

“Sherlock—“ Mycroft started.

“Mycroft, darling,” Anthea put her hand on his arm, stopping him. “It wouldn’t be too difficult to set John up in a room closer to Sherlock, would it? Your parents already know how close the two of them are.  By having them close by, it will keep them from wandering around the castle to see each other." 

Mycroft thought for a moment, then nodded. “Alright,” He nodded to Sherlock. “We’ll put John in the room next to yours.”

Sherlock grinned, and then tugged on John’s hand and led the way inside. Though he hadn’t been to Diogenes Castle in three years, he knew exactly where everything was. He moved around the hallways confidently, towing John behind him with David following close behind. Courtiers stepped aside as the young Prince came walking through, though he hardly noticed them pausing to bow respectfully to him.  He didn’t stop walking until he reached his parent’s rooms.

“Sherlock, they’re in a meeting,” David reminded him gently.

“I want to see them.” The prince said stubbornly.  David and John sighed, realizing that there was no point in arguing with him, and stood there as Sherlock knocked on the door.  A page came to answer, and looked down at the Prince.

“Your Grace, the King and Queen are in a meeting,” He said.

“I want to see them,” Sherlock repeated, crossing his arms. 

The page glanced up at David, who merely shrugged.  The page nodded, and then went inside to tell the King and Queen that their youngest soon had arrived and was demanding to see them. 

“Better let him in, Richard.” Charlotte said. “You know how stubborn he is. This meeting can wait.”

“Yes, he’ll just stand there until we come out,” Richard chuckled, nodding to the page. The page gave a short bow, and then went to let the Prince in. The advisors and ambassadors filed out as the young prince came rushing inside, still tugging John behind him. 

“Sherlock!” Charlotte smiled brightly.

“Hello mummy.” Sherlock said, bowing to her.

“Oh come here and give me a cuddle,” She smiled.

Sherlock grinned, and finally let go of John’s hand to run into his mother’s arms.

“Have you been dragging poor John all over the castle?” She asked, touching the tip of his nose with her finger. 

“I don’t mind,” John said, smiling.  David came up behind him and bowed.

“David!” Richard got up and embraced his friend. “How are you?”

“I am well,” David nodded. “And yourself?”

“Same,” The King smiled. “Has Sherlock been behaving himself?”

“Yes,” David assured the king. “He and John still get into trouble every now and then, but nothing awful.”

“John’s helping me with an experiment.” Sherlock told his mother.

“Oh! What kind of experiment?” Charlotte asked.

“It’s a secret.” Sherlock said seriously.

“Ah, I see.” Charlotte nodded, just as seriously.  She then kissed Sherlock’s cheek and set him down. “Have you put your room together?”

The young boy shook his head.

“Why don’t you and John go put your things away, hm?”

Sherlock nodded. “Come on John." 

John nodded, and said goodbye to his father before following Sherlock to their rooms.  Mycroft had made good on his promise and had John’s things put in the room that was right next to Sherlock’s.  They could see each other whenever they wanted.  Their trunks had been delivered, and John set to putting his things away while Sherlock just sat on his bed and watched. 

That night, Sherlock and John ate together in Sherlock’s room...rather, John ate while Sherlock pushed his food around on his plate.  They were already in their nightshirts, and both boys were starting to fall asleep at the table.  Once the plates had been cleared away, John walked Sherlock to his bed.

“Come on Sherlock, time for sleep.” He said, helping Sherlock onto his bed. Sherlock then turned to pull John up, but John shook his head.

“John?” Sherlock asked.

“I can’t stay in your room, Sherlock.” John said softly. “I have to go to my own.”

Sherlock pouted. “No, stay here.” He ordered.

“It’s different here than at Baker Castle,” John tried to explain. “Lady Hudson might not mind, but your parents might.”

“They won’t care.” Sherlock insisted.

“Sherlock,” John said hesitantly.

“Please, John?” Sherlock asked. 

John tried his best to refuse, but it was incredibly hard when Sherlock kept batting those clear verdigris eyes at him. 

“Ugh, fine, just for tonight though.” John relented, climbing into bed.

Sherlock smiled triumphantly and pulled the blankets over both of them. John couldn’t help smiling at his friend before they both fell asleep, hands clasped together as they always did. 

Two days later the celebrations began.  The entire castle had been decorated beautifully to celebrate Prince Mycroft’s eighteenth birthday and his betrothal to Princess Anthea.  John and Sherlock had both been dressed in their best so they could attend the events.  There was a joust and sparring between the knights on the first day, and courtiers let their money fly as they set wagers on their favorite knights. John spent most of his time by Sherlock’s side, enjoying the fun.  Neither of them really understood what was going on, other than it was Mycroft’s birthday, but that didn’t stop them from having a good time. 

There was a smaller banquet on the first night.  The main banquet would be held at the end of the week before everyone traveled back home.  King Richard and Queen Charlotte sat at the head of the hall as they always did, and Prince Mycroft and Princess Anthea were seated in the place of honor.  There was an empty seat beside Mycroft where Sherlock was supposed to sit, but instead the young prince was wedged onto a bench next to his best friend at one of the lower tables.  During the banquet, a new courtier came up and greeted the king and queen.  He had his son with him, a dark haired boy at the age of 12.  The boy grew bored as his father spoke with the King, and wandered over to where Sherlock and John were seated.

“Hello boys,” He greeted, smiling.

John looked up and frowned. “You shouldn’t address the prince so casually.” He criticized. “You must always call him ‘Your Grace,’ or ‘Your Highness.’”

“So you’re the protective little pet I’ve been hearing about,” The boy muttered. He glanced at John once more, then turned to Sherlock. “My name is James Moriarty.  My father and I just arrived at court.”

“Obviously,” Sherlock muttered.  John could tell that the prince was fighting to roll his eyes.

Instead of looking offended, Moriarty smirked. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Prince Sherlock.  Perhaps we can get together sometime?" 

“Not interested,” Sherlock said.  He looked up at him, deducing all that his little mind could take in. “You look rather shaken up, though you are doing a marvelous job at hiding it. Did someone smack your bottom as you came in?”

Moriarty glared at him. “None of your business.” He snapped.

“A bit touchy, don’t you think John?” Sherlock asked.  John nodded, but didn’t say anything. “It seems like you already have an enemy at court, Moriarty.  That’s got to be a record.”

Moriarty wisely decided to ignore this jab. “So what do you say, Prince Sherlock? Want to get to know each other a little better?”

“As I said, not interested.” Sherlock repeated.  From then on for the rest of the banquet, he pretended that Moriarty did not exist.

Moriarty frowned and leaned towards John. “Talk some sense into him, would you?”

“He’s the Prince.  If he doesn’t want to see you, then he won’t see you.” John explained.

Moriarty suppressed the desire to smack John, and turned sharply on his heel and left without even bowing.  As he retreated, they heard him muttering something about John being a pest. John merely shook his head, and finished eating his food.

“I don’t like him,” Sherlock murmured after a while.

“Neither do I,” John agreed. “He thinks so highly of himself.”

“No, it’s more than that,” The young prince looked rather troubled. He pushed his plate away, and fiddled with the hem of his doublet for the rest of the banquet.

That night, the two boys sat together in John’s room.  John had long given up trying to convince Sherlock that they should sleep in their own separate beds.  John was sitting properly on his bed, a book on his lap whereas Sherlock had his feet propped up on the headboard and was staring up at the ceiling. After reading three chapters, John yawned and set his book aside.

“I’m going to sleep now,” He told Sherlock. “Do you want the candles on?”

Sherlock didn’t say anything, but shook his head.  John got up and blew out all the candles before snuggling under the blankets.

“Are you going to sleep tonight, Sherlock?” He asked softly.

The young prince shrugged, but did get under the blankets to lie next to John.

“Okay, goodnight then,” John gave him a smile, and then fell asleep. Sherlock watched as his friend slowly drifted off to sleep.  His muscles relaxed, and his head lay heavily against the pillow.  He always enjoyed watching John sleep.  He became so peaceful so easily.  Sherlock’s head snapped up as he heard shuffling outside. He was tempted to get up, but knew that it was too dark outside to even see anything.  Instead, he snuggled closer to John, and fell asleep.

The next morning, the entire castle was woken up by a shrill scream. John and Sherlock both bolted upright, and Sherlock scrambled over John to rush to the window. There was a view of the courtyard, and most of the pool where the swimming competition was to take place that day.  There was a swarm of maids and servants crowded around the pool, all pointing at something.

“John, come on!” Sherlock shouted, snatching his dressing gown and putting his slippers on.

“Sherlock wait!” John shouted. 

He jumped out of bed, and grabbed his things too before running out of the room, chasing the young prince.  They darted through the corridors, their dressing gowns flapping behind them like capes. Sherlock ran outside, ignoring the protests of the other courtiers.  John followed close behind him until they reached the pool.  They arrived in time to see a naked body being pulled out of the water.

“Who is it?” John asked, trying to catch his breath.

“I don’t know,” Sherlock frowned, then pushed through the servants so he could get a better look.  Once he was at the front of the crowd, he looked down at the body.

“Who is that?” Sherlock tugged on one of the maid’s skirts.

“Your Grace,” She gave him a curtsy. “That is Lord Powers’ son, Carl Powers. He was to compete in the swim competition today.  He’s been the champion these past three years.”

“And he drowned?” Sherlock asked, his little brows furrowing.

“So it would seem, Your Grace.” She nodded.

“Where are his clothes?” Sherlock asked next. 

“Why his clothes?” John asked.

Sherlock ignored him, and looked up when one of the servants brought Carl’s clothes forward. Sherlock looked through them, then frowned yet again.

“His shoes are missing,” Sherlock stated. “Where are his shoes?”

“They weren’t there, Your Grace.” The servant said. “Someone is looking for them, but they are nowhere to be found.”

“That’s not right,” Sherlock muttered.

“What’s going on here?”

Everyone turned and bowed or curtsied as the loud commanding voice of King Richard. The crowd parted as he came forward, already dressed for the day.  He was startled to see his son and young John standing outside, still in their nightshirts and barely wrapped in their dressing gowns.

“Boys, what are you doing out here?” He demanded.

“Someone killed him, father.” Sherlock stated.  The servants around him gasped.

“No Your Grace,” a servant corrected gently. “He drowned. He was probably trying to get some early morning practice, but had too much to drink last night.”

“He doesn’t smell like alcohol.” Sherlock said.

“The water washed it away.”

“Smell his mouth, there’s no alcohol.” Sherlock insisted.

“Sherlock, enough.” Richard said.

“But father—“

“No, Sherlock.” Richard shook his head. “Go back inside and take John with you. Young Carl drowned, and that’s that.” 

“No he didn’t! He was murdered!” Sherlock insisted loudly.

“Sherlock!” The king raised his voice. “You are to go inside with John. I do not want to hear another word about this, do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” Sherlock mumbled, hanging his head in defeat.  Up until that moment, his father had always loved listening to his little deductions.  And now that people’s lives were at stake, he wanted nothing to do with them. The young boy looked like he was about to cry, though he was far too proud to cry in front of the entire court that had gathered outside.

“This is your brothers week.  Don’t ruin it for him,” Richard said, his voice gentler. “Now go inside.”

“Come on, Sherlock,” John whispered.  He took his friends hand, and led him back inside.

“He didn’t drown, John.” Sherlock insisted. “He was murdered!"

“I believe you Sherlock,” John said honestly. “But the grown-ups probably don’t want to because then everyone will be afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” Sherlock asked.

“That there’s a murderer running loose around the court.” John said.

Sherlock stuck his bottom lip out as he pouted. “That’s stupid. They shouldn’t be afraid. They should act and catch the murderer before he kills again!" 

“You’re right,” John nodded. “But the grown-ups won’t listen to us.”

“I hate being little.” Sherlock grumbled as they reached the castle. “No one listens.”

“I listen,” John insisted. 

Sherlock paused, and smiled a bit. “I know, John.” He nodded.

“Let’s get dressed and try to enjoy the rest of the week,” John suggested as they reached their rooms. “Maybe we’ll get to go home sooner because of the murder.”

“I’d like to go home,” Sherlock nodded. “I miss Lady Hudson.”

“I do too,” John agreed.

The boys obediently got dressed, and only spoke about the Carl Powers incident when it was just the two of them.  Sherlock noticed that the newcomer, James Moriarty, was nowhere to be seen since the incident.  Sherlock and John had innocently asked around to see where’d he gone to, and everyone answered that James had fallen ill, and had returned home to his father’s estate. Sherlock and John had both been very suspicious about that, but they couldn’t do anything. They were just two little boys, and no one would listen.

Just as John had predicted, they got to go home two days early, much to their delight.  David had been called, and he arrived at Diogenes just as the carriages were being brought around.

“Dad!” John called, running towards his father.

“Hello John,” David smiled. “Did you have a good time?”

John nodded.  He wanted to tell his father all about the murder, but he spotted the King walking towards them, so he kept his mouth shut.  Richard went to say goodbye to his youngest, but Sherlock turned away from him and got into the carriage without a word.  David frowned, and knelt down beside John.

“What was that about?” David whispered. 

John bit his lip. “Carl Powers died before the swimming competition,” He whispered quickly. “Everyone said he just drowned, but Sherlock thinks he was murdered.  No one would listen to him and his papa yelled at him.”

“Oh dear,” David sighed. “Was there any proof?”

John shrugged. “No one let us look around.”

“I see,” David nodded. “Perhaps when we get home, I could write to the king on Sherlock’s behalf?  You two can explain everything to me on the ride home.”

John nodded. “I think Sherlock would like that.”

David smiled and ruffled John’s hair. “Into the carriage then. We’re leaving soon.”

John walked to the carriage, pausing to bow to the king, then climbed in and sat next to Sherlock.  The young prince was staring out the window, waiting to go.

“Sherlock,” John whispered.

“Hm?” Sherlock kept looking out the window.

“My dad wants us to explain everything about Carl Powers on the way home.” John said. “He said he’d write to your father about it when we get home. Maybe then he’ll listen?" 

Sherlock shook his head. “He won’t listen.” He mumbled.

“But maybe—“

“No, John.  He won’t listen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap for chapter 2! I actually got it posted earlier than I thought I would. Aren't you guys lucky. :) I hope you enjoyed it! Comments are always appreciated.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always: I do not own BBC Sherlock or any of the characters belonging to it, nor do I own Showtimes', The Tudors or any of the characters belonging to it.
> 
> Enjoy :)

[Sherlock: 15; John: 17, almost 18]

-Chapter Three- 

“John! Hurry it up man!”

“Patience, Sherlock, I was just getting my sword.” John chuckled. He joined Sherlock outside, and mounted his horse.  King Richard had come down to visit for Sherlock’s sixteenth birthday.  As tradition, he was taking his son for his first hunt, though Sherlock really didn’t want to go.  He finally agreed to go on the condition that John could come too.

Sherlock grinned at his friend, and spurred his horse.  John followed him, and their hunting party fell in behind them. They raced towards the forest, and then slowed down once they were well beneath the safety of the trees.

“So what are we hunting for today?” John asked Sherlock.

“A Stag.” Sherlock smirked.

“Oh really?” John asked, grinning.

“I figure if I’m going to be forced to hunt, I might as well go for something big.” Sherlock reasoned, rolling his eyes.

“Sherlock,” King Richard chided him gently.  Sherlock ignored him.

“Hey, it’s for your birthday.” John reminded Sherlock. 

“Technically, it is not my birthday.  I am not yet sixteen,” Sherlock muttered, only so his friend could hear.

“Yes, I know.” John said calmly, not wanting to start an argument. “But your father has graciously found time to come down now, so enjoy it. You know, my father took me hunting for my sixteenth too.”

“Hunting is boring.” Sherlock muttered.

“You think everything is boring.” John teased him.

“You’re not boring.” Sherlock said softly, looking at John.

John looked up and smiled at him. “Thanks.”

“This looks like a good spot, boys.” King Richard said, dismounting his horse.

Sherlock and John did the same, and tied their horses to low branches on a nearby tree.  Sherlock had his bow and arrows with him, and John had his dagger and sword.  Usually John would use a bow too, but today was Sherlock’s day. Sherlock readied his bow, and slung his quiver over his shoulder.  He threw a look at John, wordlessly begging him to get him out of there, but John merely chuckled and shook his head.

Once the hunting party was assembled, Richard let Sherlock take the lead. Sherlock grumbled something to himself – earning a smack on the back of the head from John – and then began to move silently through the trees.  For as much as the prince hated hunting, he had a natural talent for navigating stealthily around the trees and foliage.  Richard followed his son and John at a distance, knowing that Sherlock would ask John for help if he needed it.

They spent the first hour not finding anything.  Sherlock was starting to get frustrated and agonizingly bored when John spotted a stag not too far from where they were. He and Sherlock hid behind a pair of trees, and Sherlock aimed his bow.  He shot an arrow, which lodged itself in the stag’s leg.  Startled, the stag jumped up and darted away. 

“Come on John!” Sherlock called, chasing after it.

“Watch your footing!” John called to him, darting after his friend.

They chased the stag to a circle of rocks.  Richard was close behind them and made it in time to see Sherlock accomplish his first hunt.  He praised his son’s skills, and then the hunting party had the job of packing the stag up to take back to Baker Castle to be cooked for dinner.  John and Sherlock walked side by side as they went back to their horses, but before they got there, Sherlock stepped badly and went tumbling down the side of a small hill.  John went after him, sliding down the hill to where Sherlock had landed.

“Sherlock!” John exclaimed, turning him on his back.  He immediately checked his head for injuries, and then looked down his body and stopped when he saw a large gash on Sherlock’s thigh. “Stay still, you’re injured.” John said, immediately springing into action.

“J-John, it hurts.” Sherlock moaned.

“I know, just sit tight, I’ll get you sorted.” John promised.

Sherlock nodded and watched John.  It was rather soothing, watching John’s calm and composed expression as he worked. John tore a length of cloth from his shirt and wrapped it around the wound.  It did nothing to slow the bleeding, so he ripped another length of cloth and made a tourniquet just above the gash.  He used one of Sherlock’s arrows to tighten it.

“Try and stay still, this is gonna hurt.” John warned.

Sherlock nodded, and grabbed onto John’s doublet tightly as John used the arrow to tighten the cloth.  He groaned in pain as John tied it into place so it wouldn’t come undone. John managed to get him upright and up the hill, where the hunting party was frantically searching for them.  A page came over and helped support Sherlock. 

“What happened?” King Richard exclaimed.

“He fell,” John said. “I’ll take him back to the castle, he’s in no state to ride alone.”

Richard stepped forward, intent on taking the Page’s place to help his son, but Sherlock flinched away from him. “I don’t want your help,” He muttered.

“Sherlock—“ John started.

“No, John.” Sherlock said firmly.  John sighed, but nodded.  Sherlock still hadn’t forgiven his father for not listening to him about the incident during his brother’s 18th birthday.  A man had been murdered and Richard hadn’t wanted to hear anything about it. It had broken Sherlock’s trust in his father, as well as their bond.  Now when the prince visited Diogenes Castle, he only spoke to his mother, brother, and soon-to-be sister-in-law.

King Richard sighed, and then got John’s horse, Leyla. She stayed perfectly still as Sherlock was lifted onto her back, and then John got up behind him.

“Back to the castle girl,” John told her as he spurred her on. She whinnied, and ran as fast as she could back to the castle.  John kept an arm tight around Sherlock’s waist so he wouldn’t fall off. The tourniquet seemed to be working, though Sherlock still looked paler than usual.  They reached the castle, and John jumped off of Leyla and carried Sherlock inside to his room.

“It’s a good thing you’re so skinny,” John teased him gently. “It’s still hard to carry you since you’re so damn tall.”

Sherlock chuckled softly and kept his arms around John’s neck to make it easier. A page had been sent to fetch David as soon as they’d arrived, and so he was waiting for them in Sherlock’s room. John set the prince down gently, and then worked on cutting away the cloth of Sherlock’s trousers so David could get to the wound.

“Excellent work on the tourniquet John,” David said as he unwound it. “You prevented a lot of blood loss.”

John nodded in appreciation to his father’s praise, and then set to work assisting him.  David cleaned the wound, and then set John to sterilizing a needle so he could sew it up.

“W-what’s that for?” Sherlock asked, eyeing the needle.

“I’m going to stitch the wound shut, your Grace.” David explained. “It will help the wound heal faster and will reduce the scarring.”

Sherlock nodded, and then looked at John.  John nodded in understanding and – after handing his father the needle – sat beside Sherlock and held his hand tightly.  Sherlock winced as David stitched up his wound, but stayed perfectly still.  John talked him through it all, reminding him of the time he cut his arm on a piece of glass and had to be stitched up.  Sherlock listened raptly to every word to distract himself from the needle.  It was over in no time, and David set to dressing the wound and sterilizing his tools. 

“I would recommend you stay off of your leg for a couple of days, Your Grace. And for a week, just be very careful. We don’t want the wound opening up again.” David explained.

“Okay,” Sherlock nodded.

David bowed to him, and then left the room to put his things away. John stayed where he was, sitting beside Sherlock on his bed.

“Are you okay?” John asked softly. 

“Yeah, it doesn’t hurt that much anymore.” Sherlock mumbled.

“Sherlock? What’s wrong?” John asked, recognizing the look on his face.

“Two days John!  I’m going to be stuck in bed for two days with nothing to do!” Sherlock exclaimed. 

John burst into laughter. “Oh I’ll find some way to entertain you.” He said.

“Promise?” Sherlock asked.

“Promise,” John nodded.

For the rest of that day, John stayed with Sherlock, and they talked about different things, one of them being Mycroft’s engagement.  His bride-to-be, Anthea, was three years younger than the Crowned Prince. They’d come to visit a few months ago, and Sherlock had – right away – re-deduced everything about the girl that he’d missed as a child out loud.  John and Mycroft had winced, expecting Anthea to run off crying, but she was genuinely intrigued by Sherlock’s deductions and demanded that he explain how he knew everything.  She then spent the night talking with John, comparing Sherlock’s methods to Mycroft’s, much to the embarrassment and annoyance of both the Holmes Brothers.

When dinner came around, King Richard came in to see how Sherlock was doing. He found Sherlock and John munching on their food, sitting on the bed together, still chatting. He hesitated for a moment, and then went inside.

“How are you doing Sherlock?” The King asked.

“I’m fine, Father.” Sherlock said shortly, refusing to look at his father and instead gazed out the window.

“Sherlock, please—“

“No.” Sherlock said flatly.  He glanced at John, who understood his wordless plea.

“You’re supposed to be resting, Sherlock.” He said casually, getting up. “Doctor’s orders.” He patted Sherlock’s arm, a silent promise that he’d sneak back in as soon as Richard has left. 

“Alright,” Sherlock nodded.

John gave him a brief smile, and then left the room, Richard following close behind him.

“John?”

“Yes, your Majesty?” John asked.

“Why does Sherlock hate me so much?” Richard asked rather bluntly.

“Um,” John took a moment to compose his thoughts. “He uh, never said.” He lied.

“Please, John.” Richard whispered.

“Sire, he’s my best friend.  The secrets he tells me are meant to be just that: secrets.” John explained. “It’s up to him if he wants to talk to you about the issue or not.”

“He’ll never talk to me about it.” Richard admitted.

John shrugged. “Then that’s his decision, and it has to be respected.”

Richard sighed in defeat and nodded.  He turned to leave, but the sound of paper crinkling in his pocket suddenly reminded him.

“Oh John, this came for you.” The King said, handing the note to John.

“Thank you,” John nodded.  King Richard left him, and John slipped back into Sherlock’s room.

“Is he gone?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes,” John nodded, then turned his letter over to see who had sent it. His face fell when he read whom the sender was.

“John?” Sherlock asked softly.

John didn’t say anything, but walked to stand by a candle by the window. He kept his back to Sherlock so the younger boy couldn’t deduce his facial expressions.  When he finished reading, John folded the note up carefully and slipped it inside his doublet.

“John, what is it?” Sherlock asked, sitting up.

“There’s uh, something I need to tell you,” John said, still turned away from Sherlock.

“Is something wrong?” Sherlock asked.

John shook his head. “Sherlock, you know I’m turning eighteen soon,” He began.

“Yes,” Sherlock said, waiting for John to continue.

“I’ve decided to enlist,” John said softly.

“Enlist?” Sherlock thought for a moment. “You mean in the army?”

“Yeah,” John nodded.  “I sent my papers in months ago, and according to this letter, they’ve been approved." 

“Why didn’t you tell me then?” Sherlock asked, his voice small.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” John said, finally turning to his friend.

“I thought we were friends, John.” Sherlock said, hurt filling his voice. 

“And that’s precisely why I didn’t tell you,” John said.

“What?” Sherlock asked, confused.

John smiled and sat on the side of his bed. “Sherlock, you’re the kind of person who blows things out of proportion.  If I had told you when I’d applied, you would have instantly thought up every single worst-case scenario.”

Sherlock’s cheeks flushed.  John was right of course, but he hated admitting that. “So?” He muttered.

“So, I didn’t want you staying up every night worrying bout me.” John said gently. “You hardly sleep as it is.”

Sherlock nodded and looked down at his hands in his lap.  How typical of John to make sure that Sherlock not find out so he wouldn’t worry.  That was one thing he truly admired about his friend; he always put others before himself. They were both silent for a moment until Sherlock looked up at John.

“So . . . when do you leave?” Sherlock asked.

John winced. “Just a few days after I turn eighteen.” He admitted.

Sherlock nodded, thoughts suddenly rushing through his mind. “Okay, that’s two months away.” He murmured, mostly to himself. “There’s still time.”

“Time for what?” John asked.

Sherlock’s eyes widened, realizing he’d spoken aloud. “It’s uh, a surprise.” He covered lamely.

“Uhuh,” John nodded, not buying Sherlock’s lie.

Sherlock then yawned, faking fatigue.  John noticed, and made his way to the door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, get some rest.” John said. “And stay in bed.” He added.

“Yes Doctor.” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes.

John chuckled, and then left Sherlock’s room to go to his own.

Sherlock sat in silence for a while, his hands pressed together under his chin as he thought rapidly.  After about half an hour, he called a page to go and fetch Lady Hudson’s young assistant, Lady Molly.  He continued to think, delving into his mind palace, until he heard a soft knock on the door. He sat up just as Lady Molly came into the room. 

“Lady Molly, I have a task for you.” Sherlock said to her.

********

Two months passed faster than the boys would have liked.  On the day of John’s eighteenth birthday, Sherlock had prepared a banquet for his friend, complete with music and dancing, since he knew John liked that sort of thing.  The Prince wanted it to be the best celebration ever (he’d spent weeks pouring over every last detail), since they’d received word that John would be leaving the very next day.

The morning of the party, Sherlock waltzed into John’s room, letting the door slam against the wall, waking him.

“What the—Sherlock what are you doing?” John slurred, still half-asleep.

“Get up John! Lots to do today!” Sherlock said, opening John’s window.

John winced against the light and ducked under the covers. “It’s my birthday, let me sleep.” He complained.

Sherlock yanked the blankets back. “I know it’s your birthday, which is why you need to get up!  Come on, John!”

John groaned and slowly sat up.  He rubbed his eyes, and glared momentarily at Sherlock – who was standing at the food of his bed, grinning.  As John was getting out of bed, Sherlock went to his trunk and chose an outfit for his friend and laid it on the bed.  There were navy blue trousers that would be tucked into brown leather boots. Next was a deep red shirt with a cream colored doublet that was embroidered with silver threads. The outfit was completed with a chain of pearls and topaz gems that were draped over John’s shoulders. John frowned when he saw it.

“Sherlock that’s my best outfit,” He murmured.

“I know.” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes.

“ . . . why have you put out my best clothes?” John asked.

“Because,” Sherlock said, still grinning. “I’ve planned a banquet today in honor of your birthday.”

 “W-what?” John gasped, his eyes wide. “Sherlock, you didn’t have to.”

“Shut up, it’s already happening.” Sherlock snapped.  John chuckled, but stopped protesting. 

Once Sherlock had left him, he got dressed and flattened out his hair from where it had been mussed in his sleep.  He went to the room he and his father shared, and sat by the fire to tug his boots on. Just as he was getting them on, his dad came out, holding a gift for John.

“Happy birthday, son.” David said warmly, sitting across from John.

“Dad, you didn’t have to get me anything,” John murmured, blushing a bit.

“It’s your eighteenth birthday, of course I’m going to get you something.” David smiled, then handed John the parcel. 

John unwrapped the present.  Inside was a beautiful hand-made journal and a new leather satchel. John smiled at his dad. “They’re perfect, thanks dad.”

David smiled. “Now that you’re eighteen, you can start keeping your own medical journal.” He explained. “The cover is waterproof, as is the satchel, so you can take it with you when you leave.”

“Thank you,” John smiled again.

David nodded. “You’d better get going.” He said. “Sherlock’s been planning this banquet for a long time.  He’ll get upset if you’re late.” 

John chuckled, and put his new gifts away before making his way to the main hall.  When the doors opened, he was met with streamers flying over his head and cheers from the court. John smiled at all of this, and thanked everyone as he walked inside.  Sherlock was standing at the opposite end of the hall, a proud grin plastered on his face.  John went up to him and pulled him into a tight hug. 

“This is perfect, Sherlock.  Thank you.” He smiled.

“You are welcome John.” Sherlock responded. “You do deserve it, after all.”

John pulled back and grinned at Sherlock.  Sherlock then gave a nod to the musicians, and music flowed throughout the hall. John laughed merrily, and Sherlock brought him to his seat where everyone began to give him presents.

The banquet lasted until an hour past dinnertime.  By then, the whole court was exhausted from all the celebrations, and everyone stumbled back to their rooms.  John was in his room as well, already in his nightshirt.  He had candles lit around the room to give him light as he packed the few things he’d be taking with him.  Just as everything was tucked away in his satchel, he heard a soft knock on his door.  He answered it, and found Sherlock standing there.

“Sherlock!” John said, surprised. “What are you doing here so late?”

“May I come in?” Sherlock asked softly.

“Of course,” John stepped aside, and then closed the door behind the prince.

Sherlock stepped inside, and eyed the bag that John had packed. He looked around the small room to see it neater than it had ever been before.  He heaved a sigh, and sat down on the side of John’s bd.

“What’s brought you here, Sherlock?” John asked, sitting beside him.

“I have, uh, another gift for you.” Sherlock said, handing John a small parcel.

“Sherlock, you’ve already given me the best birthday celebration.” John protested. “I don’t need anything else.”

“Please, John.” Sherlock urged.

John looked at his friend, and then back down at the parcel in his hands. He smiled, and then opened up the gift. A piece of purple silk tumbled into his lap, and he picked it up for further inspection.  There was a crest embroidered with a careful hand onto the thick silk.  John’s eyes widened when he realized it to be Sherlock’s personal crest.

“Sherlock I—I can’t take this,” John breathed, looking at his friend.

“John, I had it made just for you.  Of course you can take it.” Sherlock said, trying to calm the shorter man down.

“Sherlock this is your personal crest,” John hissed. “I hardly have the standing to—“

“John.”

“What?”

“Look at me.”

John took a deep breath and looked up at the Prince.  Sherlock’s face was calm, and his eyes soft. The prince placed his hand over John’s and squeezed it gently.

“I want you to have it.” Sherlock whispered. “Think of it as . . . a sort of protection.  To keep you safe.”

John smiled. “Alright.  Thank you, Sherlock.  I’ll wear it always.” He squeezed Sherlock’s hand, and then got up to place the purple silk atop his satchel. When he turned, he saw Sherlock standing, fiddling with the lining of his dressing gown. “Sherlock, are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Sherlock murmured.  He then looked up at John. “John, do you trust me?”

John gave him a look.  “Of course I do, Sherlock.  You know that.”

Sherlock nodded, and then looked back down to the floor.

“What’s the matter with you.  Are you ill?” John asked, placing his hand on the prince’s forehead.

Sherlock swatted his hand away. “I’m fine.” He snapped. “I just . . .”

“You can tell me, Sherlock.” John said gently. 

Sherlock nodded, and then looked up at John. “Close your eyes.” He commanded softly.

“My eyes?  But I—“

“Please, John?” Sherlock pleaded.  “Please.”

“Alright,” John nodded, and obediently let his eyes drift shut.

Sherlock shifted nervously, and stepped closer to John.  He placed his hands on the shorter man’s shoulders, and then – before he could hesitate any further – leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.  John’s eyes fluttered open as he pulled away, and he wrapped his arms tightly around the prince’s waist and drew him in again.

Their lips crashed together, causing both to moan in unison. The kiss was chaotic, unorganized, and messy, and yet it was everything that they wanted and needed. They grasped at each other’s clothes, drawing the other as close as humanly possible. John took advantage of Sherlock’s parted lips, and slipped his tongue into the Prince’s mouth, making the younger man tremble.  They fought for dominance, and relented when the other had the upper hand.  Suddenly John realized exactly what they were doing, and broke away from Sherlock.

“John?” Sherlock asked, startled.

“I’m sorry . . . I can’t—we can’t,” John stammered, trying to pull his thoughts together.

“John, what’s the matter?” Sherlock asked.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” John whispered, staring down at the floor.

“Why not?” Sherlock asked, genuinely confused. 

“I just . . .”

“Don’t you love me?” Sherlock asked rather bluntly. 

“Of course I do,” John nodded.

“Is it because I’m a man?” Sherlock asked, sounding hurt.

John rolled his eyes. “Like I give a fuck about that,” He snorted.

“Then what is it?” Sherlock snapped.

“You’re the _Prince_!” John hissed. 

Sherlock stared wide-eyed at John for half a second before doubling over in laughter.  John stared at him as if he were a madman as the younger man grabbed onto the bedpost to keep himself upright as he laughed.

“Did I say something funny?” John muttered, clearly annoyed.

Sherlock wiped his eyes. “Oh John sometimes I envy your simple mind.”

“Excuse me?” John demanded.

Sherlock stood up straight, and smiled at John. “John, I will never be king. My father is still in perfect health, Mycroft is in perfect health and already has an heir and another on the way. I am free to be with whomever I choose.”

“Really?” John asked, smiling a bit.

Sherlock smiled, and slowly wound his arms around the shorter man. “Really,” He whispered, his voice low.

John trembled, and reached up to kiss Sherlock again. They kissed slowly, taking the time to really feel one another.  John kept one hand against Sherlock’s chest, right over his rapidly beating heart, and let the other drift up to trace Sherlock’s cheekbone, memorizing the smooth texture of his skin.  He nibbled gently at the prince’s lips, causing him to moan and clutch John closer, deepening the kiss.  John smiled, and allowed Sherlock to kiss him as passionately as he wanted.

When they parted, they were both breathing heavily.  John kept his arms tight around Sherlock’s waist, and pressed gentle kisses to his face.

“Stay here tonight, please?” He whispered.

“Of course,” Sherlock nodded.

They both climbed into bed, and lay facing each other, their hands clasped together just as they used to do when they were children.  Sherlock drew John’s hand to his lips, and pressed tender kisses to his knuckles.  John smiled, and leaned forward to kiss Sherlock on the lips.

“I don’t want you to go,” Sherlock breathed.

“Shh,” John silenced him with a kiss.

Sherlock kissed him back, and then snuggled into John’s chest. They remained that way for the rest of the night: always touching, never leaving the other alone.

When morning came, they woke still twined in each other’s arms. Sherlock rolled them over so he knelt over John and kissed him languidly.  John moaned softly, and twisted his fingers in Sherlock’s hair.

“You know,” John breathed as Sherlock kissed down his neck. “You’re making it increasingly difficult for me to leave.”

“Exactly.” Sherlock murmured, dragging his lips across John’s jawline.

John chuckled, and gently pushed Sherlock away. “Sherlock, it’s my duty. I have to go.”

Sherlock pouted, but sat up so that John could get out of bed and dressed. Sherlock slipped out of the room to change quickly, and returned just as John had finished lacing up his doublet. Sherlock stepped towards him as John picked up the piece of purple silk. 

“Would you pin it on for me?” John asked.

“Gladly.” Sherlock smiled, and pinned the crest right above John’s heart. He pressed his hand over the crest, and then rested his forehead against John’s.

“Sherlock, It’s time for me to go.” John whispered.

“I know.” Sherlock sighed.  He sat up, and lifted John’s satchel and placed it across his chest and on his shoulder. He then took John’s hand and squeezed it gently. “Would it bother you if we walked out like this?” He asked quietly.

“Not at all,” John smiled, bringing Sherlock’s hand to his lips and kissing the back of it. “I’d be honored.”

The two of them left John’s room and walked as slowly as they could through the castle and to the front.  Everyone was already gathered there to bid John farewell and they all noticed when the Prince and John came out, walking hand in hand together.  John went to his father, and hugged him tightly. David gave his son his blessing, and begged him to be careful and to remember everything that he’d taught him. John then said farewell to Lady Hudson and Lady Molly, and then went to his horse. 

“John?” Sherlock called.

John paused, and turned. “Yes?” He asked.

Sherlock bit his lip, and then rushed towards John and wrapped his arms tightly around him.  John returned the embrace, and leaned his head against Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Promise me you’ll come home.” Sherlock breathed. “Please, promise me.”

John pulled away slightly so he could look up at Sherlock.  He reached up, and pressed a soft kiss to the prince’s lips. “I promise, Sherlock.” He whispered.

Sherlock nodded, and then reluctantly stepped back so that John could mount his horse.  John gave him a brave smile, and then spurred his horse, galloping away from Baker Castle. Sherlock remained outside until he could no longer see John, or the dust kicked up from his horses hooves. Lady Hudson took Sherlock gently by the arm and led him inside and to his rooms.  All he could do was wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well aren't you guys spoiled, getting two chapters within 24 hours of each other. Ye be warned: this is how i'm going to be updating. Sometimes I'll have Chapters up one right after the other, other times chapters will be posted a month apart. Originally I had close to 70 pages of this fic written, then I lost all of it. So now i'm starting from scratch. I began by writing chapters out of order, so for instance, I had chapters 1, 3, and a few that I'll be tucking in somewhere towards the middle/end done. Now that I have down most of what I originally had, i'm able to add the rest of the chapters that I had not yet begun. That's why you're getting Chapter 3 so soon. I had it finished before I began Chapter 2 :P
> 
> Edit: I have fixed the errors in this chapter.
> 
> Comments are always appreciated!


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get used to seeing this: as always, before we start: I do not own BBC Sherlock or any of the characters belonging to it, nor do i own Showtimes, The Tudors or any of the characters belonging to it.
> 
> Enjoy! :3

[Sherlock: 17.5; John: 19.5]

-Chapter Four- 

Sherlock stood outside on the ground of Baker Castle.  His doublet had been cast aside on the grass, and his white shirt billowed in the gentle wind.  He had a quiver full of arrows at his hip, and his bow in his hand. The straw target stood quite a ways away, and he stood still a moment, listening to the waves and gaging the wind. He then drew an arrow sharply, notched it, and let it fly.  It lodged itself dead center, but Sherlock was unable to smirk in triumph as he usually did. He dropped his bow onto the ground, and slipped his hand into his pocket, where John’s latest letter rested.

John had left for the war one and a half years ago.  Since then, Baker Castle had seemed incredibly cold and silent. Everyone noticed. The castle was incomplete without John’s warmth and compassion.  Sherlock was found to be isolating himself from everyone else. On the rare occasion that he did grace others with his presence, he was coarse and almost cruel. He no longer censored his deductions as he used to, and often distressed others to the point of tears. King Richard had written to his son, trying to get him to fix his behavior, but the prince cast the letter into the fire without even opening it.  

He spent countless hours locked away in his rooms, doing God knows what. The servants avoided him as much as they could, afraid of his uncertain temper.  He was suddenly prone to actions that he’d never been seen doing before. Molly once found him passed out on the floor, the scent of wine heavy in the air.  Everyone did everything they could to cheer up the young prince, but his temperament had shifted, and they knew that only John’s return could change that. 

Not all days were bad though.  On rare days, such as today, he’d stroll around the castle grounds unaccompanied by anyone or anything, save for his thoughts.

“Prince Sherlock!”

Sherlock turned to see Molly rushing towards him.  She was one of the only people in the castle who dared to approach Sherlock no matter what his mood was.  She stopped when she reached him, and took a moment to catch her breath before curtsying.

“Who is it?” Sherlock asked curtly.

“Your brother is here to see you,” She told him. “He’s waiting in your rooms.”

“Ugh, what does he want?” Sherlock snapped.  He snatched up his doublet and shrugged it on, leaving his bow and quiver behind for his page to put away.  Molly walked with him back to the castle.

“I think he just wants to check in on you,” Molly said. “He does worry, you know.”

“Him? Worry about me?” Sherlock asked incredulously.

Molly giggled. “As much as you two bicker, deep down I think you both care.” She smiled.

“Hmph,” Sherlock muttered.

They reached the castle, but Molly remained beside Sherlock. “Have . . . have you heard from John lately?” She asked gently.

Sherlock’s expression softened. “I received a letter two weeks ago.” He said, slipping his hand back into his pocket.

“And is he well?” She asked.

“Yes,” Sherlock nodded.  He didn’t say anything else.

“I’m glad.” She smiled. “I pray all the time that he’ll come home safely.”

Sherlock turned to her. “You do?” He asked.

Molly smiled and nodded. “We all worry about him.” She said. “And we all want him back home.”

Sherlock graced her with one of his rare, genuine smiles. “Thank you, Lady Molly.”

“You’re welcome,” She smiled. “Now go on, your brother sounded impatient.”

“He’s always impatient.” Sherlock muttered.  He kissed Molly’s cheek softly, and then continued to his rooms. He threw the door open, unsurprised to see his brother seated by the fireplace, a glass of wine already in his hand.

“Ah, there you are, brother dear.” Mycroft smiled. “I was about to send my page off to search for you.”

“I was outside.” Sherlock said shortly.  He stood by the table, and poured himself a glass of wine before sitting down across from his brother. 

Mycroft nimbly leaned forward and plucked Sherlock’s cup out of his hand. “I think perhaps tea is a better choice, hm?” He nodded to his page, who went to fetch them tea.

“What do you want?” Sherlock demanded.

“I just wanted to see you,” Mycroft said innocently.  “Lady Hudson writes that you’ve been quite melancholy since your man left.”

“He’s not ‘my man,’ Mycroft.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “He’s very much his own person.”

“Of course,” Mycroft inclined his head.  The page arrived with the tea, and set it on the table. Mycroft nodded to him, and they fell silent as Mycroft prepared the tea himself.

“How is mother?” Sherlock asked.

“She is well.” Mycroft nodded. “Though, she does wish that you’d make amends with father.”

“No.” Sherlock said immediately.  Mycroft handed him a teacup, and he held it against his chest.

“Please, Sherlock.  It’s been years—“

“I said, no.” Sherlock turned to look at his brother.  “When I was a child, he promised that he’d always listen no matter what I had to say.  He broke that promise the day Carl Powers was murdered.”  Mycroft recognized the look on his face, and sighed, realizing he’d never be able to convince Sherlock.  Wishing to avoid an argument, the crowned prince changed the subject.

“You know, mother is pleased that you and John are a couple.” Mycroft continued casually. “She was overjoyed when Lady Hudson told her the news.”

“Hm,” Sherlock sighed.

They fell into silence again, but this time, Mycroft broke it.

“Sherlock, I am doing everything I can to end this war.” Mycroft said softly. “But you know how father is: stubborn as a mule.  He wants to see it to complete victory, not to surrender.  He dislikes making treaties and forming the terms that come hand in hand with surrender.”

“I know,” Sherlock muttered.

Mycroft sighed, and set his cup aside. “When John returns, Mother is expecting you to return to court.”

“Wha – Court?” Sherlock demanded. “What for?”

“You are her son, and your place is at court.  Not tucked away here for the rest of your life.” Mycroft stated.

“I like it here, and so does John.” Sherlock said stubbornly.

“Understandable,” Mycroft nodded. “Mother does not expect you to remain permanently at court, but to come for holidays, Christmas and Easter and what not.”

Sherlock thought for a moment, then nodded curtly. “Fine.” He agreed.

“Thank you, brother dear.” Mycroft said as he stood.  Sherlock stood as well, and reluctantly walked with his brother to the front of Baker Castle where his carriage stood waiting. Just before he stepped into the carriage, Mycroft turned to his younger brother. “I do hope John returns home soon, for your sake at least.  You’ve lost quite a bit of weight since he left.”

“It would serve you well to do the same.” Sherlock muttered, eyeing his brother’s growing waistline.

“Charming as ever,” Mycroft smiled tightly. “Take care of yourself, Sherlock.”

“I’ll write Anthea and tell her not to let you eat so much cake.” Sherlock nodded.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, and got into his carriage.  Sherlock stood there and watched as it rolled away, and then returned to his room.  He slipped his doublet off, and sat at his desk.  He had a beautiful wooden chest on the top of it, and it held all of the letters that John had sent him. He opened it, and read through them.

_My dearest Sherlock,_

_I’ve arrived safe and sound.  Since I’m a medical professional, I get a tent all to myself, even though I’m also a soldier.  There’s a pair of soldiers who are in the tent next to me.  They’re nice enough, and they invite me over every now and then. Mostly I stay by myself though. I’m one of the only men coming from a court here.  Most of the lads here are just random countrymen who needed the money to feed their families. There are a few boys here too, and I know that they forged their papers and are not even close to being eighteen, but what can I do?_

_I miss you already.  I miss waking up with you next to me.  That is something I am definitely looking forward to when I get home.  I even miss your crazy deductions and how you always manage to drive me mad.  Please take care of yourself. I know how you get when you’re mopey. I’ve asked Lady Molly to keep an eye out for you.  I’ve also given her permission to force you to eat if you don’t do so on your own._

_I’ve got to go now.  Training begins in a few minutes, and I can’t be late.  I love you so much Sherlock.  I’ll be home before you know it._

_Yours always, John._

That was the very first letter John had sent.  He did his best to send letters at least once a week, but it got difficult as supplies ran low as the war got worse.  John had been lucky to get one letter out a month. Sherlock pulled out the latest letter, and lay it out flat on the desk.

_My love,_

_The fighting is terrible.  I don’t even know how to describe it.  I don’t think it’s possible to.  I know we’re winning, but boys are dying left and right and there’s nothing I can do about it. It doesn’t feel like we’re winning at all. I’ve used every herb I know, every tactic and practice to save these men, but it’s all for naught. Just the other day, one of the lads died in my arms.  He couldn’t have been older than sixteen.  He told me that he’d forged his papers so that his mother and sisters would be able to eat. The poor child. He’d been hit by the debris from a cannon blast and was bleeding out.  It was a slow death, and I did all I could to comfort him. I told him of Baker Castle, and how the ocean gleams in the sunlight, and the wonderful celebrations we have. I told him how the waves crash upon the rocks, and how the sound soothes us to sleep.  He died in my arms, but when I looked down at him, he was at peace._

_When we have a little down time, I tell my fellow soldiers stories. Most of them are about you and your experiments.  Of course I leave out the part about you being the Prince, and I never mention your name, but all the same, they enjoy it.  It gives us a little piece of something normal, something to remind us of home. It gets so bad out here that we forget what it’s like to sleep in a real bed, to have a full meal, or to be able to just walk around leisurely without being afraid of getting hit by a bullet or run through with a sword.  It’s stressful, and I wish it were over._

_Oh, I’m sure you’re wondering about the little plant I sent along with this note.  Us medics were out looking for herbs one day and we stumbled across this plant. None of us could identify it, and we were wary of trying it on our patients in case it turned out to be poison. I told them I’d send it home to you. Perhaps you could run some experiments on it? I know it will give you something to do. You can ask my father to help you if you’d like.  I know you like to have company while you work on your experiments sometimes.  I’ve also written a description as to where we found the plant so that you might be able to look for more if you need to._

_I can’t tell you how much I long to be back home at Baker Castle with you. Sleeping in the dirt does awful things to ones back and shoulders.  I think about you all the time, and the men tease me, asking if I have a sweetheart back home.  I couldn’t resist. I told them ‘Yes I do, and he’s the sweetest man I’ve ever met.’  Oh don’t give me that face.  You always make a face when I call you ‘sweet.’  You are sweet, and should be proud of it._

_I hear gunfire.  Looks like the fighting has started up again.  Our supplies are dangerously low, so I don’t know when I’ll be able to snatch some paper to send another letter.  I love you so much, and I look forward to returning home and to your arms._

_Yours, John._

Sherlock took a deep breath, and then folded the letter up carefully and placed it amongst the others.  He’d received it two weeks ago, and so he was not expecting another letter for at least another two or three weeks. He closed the little chest, and slid it back into its place on the corner of his desk.  Feeling too antsy to remain in his room, he returned outside, picked up his bow again, and fired so many arrows that the target started to fall apart.

Two months later, Sherlock had still not received any word from John. Lady Molly had come just a few days ago, telling him that there was a severe shortage in supplies, and Sherlock tried to comfort himself with that fact.  Perhaps John was perfectly alright, and just hasn’t been able to get his hands onto a piece of paper. 

After the first month passed, Sherlock had taken John’s latest letter back out of his little chest and kept it on his person at all times. The corner of it was thin from where he rubbed it constantly between his fingers.  He was desperate to know how John was, but he had no way of finding out.

After hearing nothing from John for so long, Sherlock became desperate and sent letter after letter to his brother, and even to his father. He’d also sent a letter to Anthea, just confessing his worries.  He trusted her not to make a big deal out of it, and she’d responded with comforting words, ensuring him that she and Mycroft would do everything in their power to end the war and bring John home.  Tales of victories and defeats made their way back home, but Sherlock had no idea where John was in them.  He’d been moved around so much because of his medical prowess that Sherlock couldn’t even begin to guess where he was currently stationed. 

One late night, after receiving another soothing letter from his sister-in-law, he was pacing in his room, wearing just his trousers and shirt loose and comfortable. The fire was lit and sent a warm glow over the room, but Sherlock felt anything but comforted by its warmth. All he wanted was—

“Prince Sherlock!”

The door suddenly burst open, and Sherlock spun on his heel to see Lady Hudson standing in the doorway, trying to catch her breath.  She was in her nightgown with her dressing gown hastily thrown over. 

“Lady Hudson?” Sherlock asked. “What is it?  What’s wrong?”

“Prince Sherlock, come,” She beckoned to him.

“What is it?” He asked again.

“Just, follow me.” She said.  Without waiting for his answer, she turned and walked through the corridors of the castle. She stopped in front of John’s rooms, and turned to Sherlock. “In there,” She said.

“These are John’s rooms.  Why?” He asked.

“Stop asking questions you silly boy and just go in!” She said, smacking his shoulder lightly.

Sherlock nodded, and knocked on the door.  He heard David’s soft ‘come in,’ and pushed the door open. 

The room was lit by the fire and by numerous candles.  David was sitting beside the bed with his back to the door, and he had his face over the bloody shoulder of someone very familiar. 

“John,” Sherlock breathed.

John turned his head, and smiled weakly at Sherlock. “Hello, Sherlock.” He whispered.

Sherlock rushed forward and gently climbed onto the bed and knelt beside John. He took John’s hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the back of it over and over again. He took a deep breath, letting himself realize that John was finally home and back at his side. He took another breath, and then looked at his lover.  John’s face was pale and gaunt, as if he hadn’t had a proper meal in months (which probably, he hadn’t.)  He was much thinner than he was when he left Baker Castle, and his left hand trembled every so slightly in Sherlock’s grasp. The young prince’s eyes raked over John until they fell upon his shoulder.

“You got shot,” Sherlock whispered.

“Yeah,” John nodded.  He winced as his father cleaned the entry wound and prepared to stitch it up. Sherlock reached up and brushed his hand through John’s hair soothingly.

“How?” Sherlock asked, looking up at John.

“It was during the Battle of Baskerville,” John began.  “I was tending to another soldier.  He’d been trampled by a horse and his leg was broken. I was trying to set it properly and bind it when I got shot.  I tried to continue helping him, but, according to the other physicians, I passed out.” John explained. “The other soldier is fine.  Another doctor took my place and set his leg alright while I was being tended to.  I managed to check in on him before I was sent home.” 

“Oh John,” Sherlock breathed.

“What?” John asked.

“My brave, brave John,” Sherlock said proudly.  He reached up and stroked John’s cheek tenderly. “I’m glad you’re home.”

John smiled. “I’m glad to be home.”

The two fell silent as David finished stitching up his son’s shoulder, and then watched as he wrapped it in a bandage and went to sterilize his tools. 

“You need a bath John.” David said. “Come on, let’s get you washed up.” 

“I’ll do it.” Sherlock said, standing. 

“Sherlock, you don’t have to—“ John tried to protest. 

Sherlock held his hand up. “Hush.  I want to.” He insisted.

“Alright.” David smiled. “I’ll have the servants prepare a bath in the kitchen.”

Sherlock nodded, and then slowly helped John to stand.  He kept his arm tight around his soldier’s waist in order to offer as much support as he could.  They slowly made their way downstairs to the kitchen where servants were already drawing up a bath.  As they walked, Sherlock noticed that John had acquired a limp, but could deduce no physical injury. It was all in his mind then, well, that could be easily fixed given time.  For now, Sherlock’s priority was helping John to heal.

They reached the kitchen and found a steaming bath set before the fireplace. Servants hastily finished filling the bath, and scurried out of the room.  John noticed their strange behavior, but didn’t say anything yet. Sherlock helped John to undress, and then helped him ease into the hot water.  John sighed, and relaxed against the side of the tub. Sherlock tugged his shirt off and sat on a stool beside the bath, cloth in hand.  John tried to take the cloth, but Sherlock held it out of his reach. 

“Tonight I’m taking care of you,” Sherlock insisted, grabbing a bar of soap. “You just sit there and let me do the work for once.”

John smiled and relaxed back into the water. “Alright, love.” He whispered.

Sherlock washed John slowly, almost reverently, taking great care around his wounded shoulder.  Sherlock scrubbed his hair, getting all of the dirt and grime out of it so that it would gleam gold once again.  While Sherlock washed his back, John decided to bring up the frightened looking servants.

“Sherlock?” He asked.

“Yes?” Sherlock asked, continuing to wash John’s back. 

“Why do all the servants seem to be terrified of you?” John asked.

Sherlock hesitated in his movements for a split second, before setting the cloth down and rinsing the suds off of John.

“Sherlock?” John prompted.

Sherlock heaved a sigh and sat back.  “While you were gone,” He began. “I – um – may have lost my temper once or twice.”

“Once or twice?” John raised his eyebrow.

Sherlock bit his lip. “Perhaps more.” He mumbled.

“You must apologize.” John instructed. “Everyone is terrified of you. You must apologize so that things will return back to the way they were.”

Sherlock frowned, but didn’t say anything.

“Promise me,” John said, gripping his hand tight. “Promise me you’ll apologize to everyone.”

Sherlock thought for a moment, and then nodded. “Tomorrow, I’ll call everyone to the hall and apologize.”

“Thank you,” John smiled.

Sherlock smiled back, and kissed his forehead. “Want more hot water?” He asked.

“Sure,” John smiled.

Sherlock went to the fire, and carried the pot over and carefully poured more water into the tub.  He then re-filled the pot and set it back over the flames.  John leaned back in the water and sighed.  Sherlock sat beside him and trailed his fingers through his hair gently.

“You need a haircut, and a shave.” Sherlock noted, brushing his finger against John’s rough cheek.

“Yeah,” John nodded.  “Razors are hard to come by during a war.”

Sherlock chuckled softly and kissed the top of John’s head. “Come on, I’ll give you a shave and we can get your hair cut tomorrow.”

“Alright.” John smiled. 

Sherlock helped him out of the bath and dried him off before wrapping him in a fresh nightshirt.  He then tucked a dressing gown around him and helped him back to his rooms. 

“Sit there, I’ll get your shaving things.” Sherlock said.

John smiled, and sat down, watching Sherlock gather his things. He lit a few candles, and then rolled up the sleeves of his shirt before getting John ready for a shave. John closed his eyes as Sherlock walked around him, covering his face and neck with shaving foam.

“You’ve done this before, right?” John muttered as he heard Sherlock sharpening the blade on his belt.

“Do have some faith in me John,” Sherlock said.  John could hear the smile in his voice.  “I’m starting now, hold still.”

John stayed perfectly still as Sherlock scraped the blade against his skin, cutting the stubble away.  Sherlock tilted his head side to side in order to get the proper angle and then wiped John’s face of excess foam when he was done.

“Done,” Sherlock smiled. “There’s my John.”

John sat up and looked in the mirror, brushing his fingers against his now smooth chin. “I almost feel normal again.” He chuckled softly.

“Perhaps a kiss would help?” Sherlock grinned.

John smirked, and grabbed Sherlock’s hand to pull him onto his lap. Sherlock straddled the shorter man’s lap and draped his arm over his good shoulder.  He then leaned down, and brushed his lips against John’s ever so softly. John sighed blissfully, and leaned forward, pressing his lips insistently against Sherlock’s. The prince smiled into the kiss, deciding that the time for teasing would come later, and kissed his lover desperately. John wrapped his good arm tightly around Sherlock’s waist and held him close.  The kiss was filled with longing and relief.  Both were grateful that John was home in one piece and that Sherlock seemed to be returning back to his normal self.  When they broke apart, they were both breathing heavily, their foreheads touching.

“I love you,” Sherlock whispered.

John smiled and kissed Sherlock softly. “I love you too,” He breathed.

Sherlock smiled, and then stood up, holding his hand out for John. The shorter man took it, and Sherlock led him to the bed.  He helped John in, and tucked him in.  He stood to leave, but John grasped his sleeve.

“Don’t go,” He begged.

Sherlock smiled, and gently pried his hand off his sleeve. “I’ll be right back,” He promised. “I just need to change.”

“Oh, okay.” John smiled, and relaxed into the pillows.

Sherlock kissed his temple, and then darted to his room.  A fresh nightshirt was lying on his bed, along with a dressing gown, most likely put there by his page by instruction of Molly or Lady Hudson. He made a mental note to thank them the next morning.  He changed quickly, and then grabbed a candle to light his way as he returned to John’s room. He found the soldier drifting to sleep, fighting exhaustion so he’d be awake when Sherlock returned.

“You didn’t need to wait up for me,” Sherlock murmured as he walked around the room, blowing the candles out one by one. 

“I wanted to,” John murmured. “I don’t want to be alone when I fall asleep.” 

Sherlock climbed into bed and rested his chin against John’s good shoulder. “Nightmares?” He whispered.

John bit his lip, but nodded. “Bad ones, sometimes.” He said.

Sherlock wrapped his arm around John. “Don’t worry.” He said, kissing his cheek. “I will be right by your side all night long.  If you have a nightmare, wake me up, okay?  I’ll be right here, love.”

John smiled. “Thank you,” He breathed.

Sherlock nodded, and hummed one of his songs to help John sleep. Sure enough, the shorter man’s eyes fluttered shut, and his breathing gentled.  Sherlock kept humming, even after he was fast asleep. He then settled down next to John and fell asleep as well.  He made sure that his arm remained draped over his lover’s waist at all times, providing constant comfort and support.

In the middle of the night, John bolted upright sharply, gasping from the nightmare he’d been having.  There’d been blood and gunfire everywhere.  Men were screaming as they died, and John was too slow to save them all. His nightmare had ended when he felt the bullet tear through his shoulder. 

He lifted a shaking hand and touched his wounded shoulder, wincing as he irritated the tender flesh.  He felt the bandage and the familiar stinging sensation as the skin and muscles slowly worked on healing. He then brought his hands up to cover his face and smother the sobs that suddenly wracked his entire frame.

“John?” Sherlock murmured, sitting up.  He saw the state that John was in and forced himself awake and alert. “John, love, what is it?”

“N-nightmare,” John said through his sobs.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s waist and held him close, allowing the shorter man to press his face against his shoulder.  Sherlock stroked his hair gently, muttering soothing words to try and calm him down.  As he held John, the door opened, and David came in holding a candle in one hand and a small vial in the other.

“John,” David said gently, coming to the bedside.

“H-hey dad,” John sniffed, wiping his face with the sleeve of his nightshirt. “What’s that?” He asked, spotting the vial.

“It’s a sleeping drought.” David said. “It will put you to sleep so deeply that you shouldn’t be plagued by nightmares.”

John nodded, and pulled himself out of Sherlock’s arms and held his hand out for the vial.  David uncorked it, and handed it over.  Without hesitation, John tipped the vial back and swallowed the syrupy liquid. He grimaced at the taste, and David gave him a cup of water to wash it down.  Moments later, John’s eyes began to droop, and Sherlock lowered him against the pillows.

“My poor boy,” David whispered, watching his son sleep.

“What can I do?” Sherlock asked him, his eyes still on John.

“Your grace?” David asked.

Sherlock looked up at him. “What can I do to help John?” He asked again.

David looked down at Sherlock and saw not a prince, but a lost young man. David knew that Sherlock cared deeply for his son, and would do anything to help him.  Smiling softly, he placed is hand on Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Just being here for him will do him wonders,” David said softly.

Sherlock nodded, and looked back at John. “How long until his shoulder is healed?” He asked next.

“I’m afraid he’ll never be completely healed.  His shoulder will bother him for the rest of his life.” David admitted. “But I’ll be able to take the stitches out in a few weeks. I’d say two months before he’s able to do what he used to.” 

Sherlock nodded. “Thank you,” He said. 

“Anytime, your grace.” David smiled. “I’m going to sleep now. He shouldn’t wake until morning, but if you need me, just call.” 

“Thank you,” Sherlock whispered again.

David patted his shoulder, then gathered up his candle and the empty vial and left, shutting the door silently behind him.  Sherlock took a deep breath and lay down beside John. He draped his arm over John’s waist, and watched his chest rise and fall as he breathed.  His face was calm, and Sherlock knew that no nightmares were bothering him now.  Still, the prince remained awake for the rest of the night, silently watching over his brave soldier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go! Chapter 4! Whew! I finally got it up. I would have had it posted a week ago if i hadn't fallen ill. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it! Comments are always appreciated (hint hint ^.^)


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before we start: I do not own BBC Sherlock or any of the characters belonging to it, nor do i own Showtimes, The Tudors or any of the characters belonging to it.
> 
> I want to take a moment to thank all of you for your incredible patience. I was uh . . . off the grid for a while and was unable to update. I've no idea when I'm going to get the next chapter up seeing as I have a shit-load of homework already (and it's only week 1 of school >.

[Sherlock 17.5; John 19.5]

-Chapter Five-

Two weeks later, just as predicted, David deemed John healed enough to have his stitches removed. John sat on the bed, his father in a chair beside him, with Sherlock kneeling on the bed as well. Sherlock held John’s hand as David carefully cut the tiny threads and pulled them out one by one. The prince was entirely fascinated at how the little threads had managed to pull flesh back together again. His keen eyes followed David’s every move as he removed the threads, washed the wound, and applied fresh bandages. John noticed Sherlock’s interest and chuckled.

“Enjoying yourself?” He teased lightly.

“I’d no idea that thread could so something so amazing,” Sherlock murmured.

“It wasn’t just the thread, your Grace.” David smiled as he cleaned his things. “The human body is a mysterious thing.”

Sherlock nodded, and immediately thought of at least a dozen experiments during which he could test the strength, durability, and capabilities of different kinds of threads. Were some threads stronger than others, more resistant to chafing or heat? He was pulled out of his thoughts when John squeezed his hand. Looking up at him, Sherlock smiled, and squeezed back.

Now that John was home, Baker Castle slowly returned to the way it had been. Just as he had promised, Sherlock called everyone together and humbly asked their forgiveness for his behavior. It was a start, and John was proud of him. Aside from their other duties, John and Sherlock spent most of their time together. There were certain exercises that John had to perform daily in order to keep his shoulder from locking up, and Sherlock gladly helped him every step of the way.

The limp that John had come home with was slowly fading into a distant memory. Now, he only limped early in the morning, just after he woke up. Sherlock was determined to rid John of every trace of that stupid limp if it was the last thing he did. Months passed, and finally, the limp was gone. John still suffered from nightmares, and Sherlock knew that there was nothing really he could do about that. All he could do was offer his love and support to John, and help him through the nightmares when they did come to plague his dreams.

One night, the two were in Sherlock’s rooms, John by the fire reading a book, and Sherlock at his desk furiously scratching away in his journal. Usually John was able to filter out the sound of a quill zooming across the paper, but tonight was different. Along with the scratching sounds, Sherlock was muttering to himself under his breath as he wrote. John heaved a sigh, and abandoned his book to stand behind Sherlock.

“What are you working on?” John asked gently.

“Moriarty,” Sherlock muttered, still writing.

John reached forward and placed his hand over Sherlock’s, stilling the quill. Sherlock took a deep breath and set it down.

“Why don’t you talk it out with me?” John offered.

“It’s complicated,” Sherlock murmured.

“I’m not as stupid as you may think I am,” John pointed out.

Sherlock hesitated, then nodded and went to his chair by the fire. John sat back down in his own chair and waited for Sherlock to start talking.

“He’s been too quiet,” Sherlock finally said. “With the kind of entrance he made when we were children, it’s not like him to just be so . . . still. He likes to show off, so why hasn’t he shown himself off lately?”

“Do you think he’s hiding?” John asked.

Sherlock was already shaking his head before John had finished. “He’s not trying to conceal his movements. I’ve been able to find accounts of every time he goes to court. He’s spending most of his time at his family estate at Reichenbach, but goes to court for formal events.”

“Why hasn’t he done anything yet?” John asked, concern filling his voice.

“I don’t know,” Sherlock admitted. “But I do know that he’s waiting on purpose. He hasn’t been inconvenienced or anything . . . he wants to wait.”

“Wait for what, though?” John asked next.

Sherlock merely shrugged.

“you know,” John said after a long silence. “It’s almost as if he thinks that by waiting for whatever it is he’s waiting for . . . he’ll get a bigger reaction, does that make sense?”

“Perhaps,” Sherlock mused. “We just have to wait.”

“I don’t like waiting,” John murmured. “It’s like waiting for a unruly canon to fire.”

“I know.” Sherlock practically growled. 

He jumped up from his chair and began to pace furiously in front of the fire, muttering to himself yet again. John watched him for a moment before standing and stepping in his path. Sherlock froze, and looked up at John. He opened his mouth to speak, but John held his hand up, and merely led Sherlock to the side of the bed. Wordlessly, John helped Sherlock change into his nightclothes, and then sat him on the bed while he changed too. John then climbed onto the bed and pulled Sherlock to lay his head in his lap.

“John, what are you—“

“Shh,” John whispered. He placed his fingers against Sherlock’s temples, and slowly began to rub in small circles. Sherlock winced at first, and then slowly his body began to relax against the bed. John continued his little massage until Sherlock had practically melted into the bed.

“You need to relax, Sherlock,” John murmured. “Stressing yourself won’t help you to figure out what Moriarty is up to.”

“I can’t help it,” Sherlock slurred, already drifting to sleep.

John chuckled and leaned over to kiss his forehead. “Come on, into bed with you.”

“Need to think,” Sherlock mumbled, trying to get up.

“Nope, you need to sleep.” John said firmly. He lifted the covers, and helped Sherlock maneuver under them. He slid in next to his lover after blowing out the candles and banking the fire.

“No sleep, Jawn,” Sherlock mumbled. “Think . . . need to . . . think,”

“Shh,” John let his fingers card through Sherlock’s hair soothingly. “Sleep, love,” He murmured.

Sherlock mumbled something incoherent, but finally stopped fighting and let fatigue get the better of him. John smiled triumphantly once Sherlock was fast asleep, and then allowed himself to fall asleep as well. When he woke in the morning, the room was full of sunlight, and Sherlock was sitting at his desk, scratching away at his journal again. John yawned and smiled fondly at him.

“Knew I wouldn’t be able to keep you in bed for long,” He chuckled.

Sherlock smirked. “You know me all too well, John.”

“Of course I do,” John grinned as he slid out of bed. “What time did you wake up?”

“Just before dawn,” Sherlock said, flipping back a few pages to check something before returning to his present page to keep writing. 

John kissed the top of Sherlock’s head as he walked past him. “Let me know when you take a break. Maybe we’ll go riding today. The weather’s nice.”

“Okay,” Sherlock nodded.

John tugged on a dressing gown and went back to his room to dress for the day. He figured Sherlock would be busy with his pondering, and so he tagged along with his father as he made his rounds around the castle. By noon, Sherlock had decided to leave his notes alone for a while, and invited John to go riding and have a picnic. They decided to ride through the forest before ending up on the beach. John had been right; the weather was marvelous.

A few nights later, they were once again in Sherlock’s room. John was fast asleep in bed while Sherlock was pacing quietly in front of his window. He had one candle lit, and had it set on the windowsill, the flame dancing merrily every time the breeze kicked up a bit. Sherlock paused for a moment to gaze outside. His room had one of the best views in the castle. It overlooked the ocean, and the full moon that hung over it like a giant glowing pearl. Suddenly getting an idea, Sherlock went to the bed and woke John.

“What is it?” John mumbled, barely awake.

“Get up and get dressed John,” Sherlock murmured.

“Why?” John complained. “M’tired.”

Sherlock lit a few more candles and tossed John’s clothes onto the bed. John sighed, and reluctantly got up and dressed. Once he was, Sherlock blew out all the candles but one, and stuck the last one inside of a lantern.

“Where are we going?” John yawned.

The prince took John’s hand and led him out of his room and out of the castle. “You’ll see.” Sherlock grinned.

John smiled back, and allowed Sherlock to lead him to their unknown destination. It was a beautiful night, and John admired the clear sky and bright stars as they walked. When they made it to the beach, Sherlock set the lantern down and lay back against the sand. John lay next to him and took his hand.

“The stars are lovely,” Sherlock murmured.

John gave him a look. “I thought you didn’t care about the stars?” He asked.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate them,” Sherlock sighed.

John smiled warmly, and looked back up at the night sky. The sound of the waves was quite soothing, and he found himself closing his eyes. He was so relaxed that he didn’t notice Sherlock slip his hand out of John’s grasp. He only opened his eyes when he heard the sound of clothes being dropped against the sand. Sherlock was standing with his back to John. His coat and doublet were already on the ground, and he was working on the ties of his shirt. Once that was on the sand, he began to undo his trousers.

“Sherlock, what are you doing?” John hissed.

“Relax John,” Sherlock said, letting his trousers fall to the ground. “This is private property, we’re perfectly alone here, besides, it’s not like we haven’t seen each other naked before.” He stepped out of his trousers, and John blushed and looked away. 

True, they had seen each other bare before, but never in this context. Usually it was just a quick glimpse whilst changing, or god forbid, when John had to strip Sherlock after he spilled some sort of chemical all over his clothes. This was different. John looked back up at Sherlock, his eyes following the slight curves of his back, down to his arse, and back up again. Sherlock stood on the shore for a bit, the surf rippling over his feet before being drawn back into the ocean. The light from the full moon made his skin glow, and John couldn’t help but stare. A few moments later, Sherlock stepped into the water and waded in until he was waist-deep. He then just stood there, wordlessly waiting for his lover to join him.

John glanced around the beach quickly, and then slowly peeled is clothes away. His hands were remarkably steady as he undid the ties on his shirt and pulled it over his head and let it fall from his fingers onto the soft sand. He toed his boots off as he untied the laces of his trousers and let them fall to the ground in a soft heap. Taking a breath, he made for the water. To his surprise, the ocean was comfortably warm. He smiled as he waded in until he was right beside Sherlock. He reached over and twined their fingers together.

They stood together in comfortable silence for a while before Sherlock turned to face John. He lifted his hand and brought it to rest against the scar marring John’s shoulder. Water from Sherlock’s hand cooled and ran down John’s skin, making the shorter man shiver. Sherlock leaned down and brushed his lips over the scar, memorizing the feel of the pearly tissue slowly, almost reverently. John rested his hands on Sherlock’s hips, watching patiently as the prince observed his scar.

“Spherical bullet,” Sherlock muttered as he inspected the tissue. “Luckily remained in one piece after being fired so there was no shrapnel.”

“Yes,” John nodded.

Sherlock kissed the scar again. “I was scared,” He whispered.

John frowned. “Scared? What are you talking about, Sherlock?”

“When you stopped sending letters,” Sherlock explained softly. “I was worried that—Molly said that there was a shortage of supplies, but . . .”

“Oh love,” John breathed, pulling Sherlock into his arms. “I promised you I’d come home, and you know that I never break my promises to you.”

Sherlock nodded against John’s shoulder. “I know,” He murmured.

“Hey,” John took Sherlock’s face in his hands and made the taller man look at him. “I’m not going anywhere. I will be by your side until you order me away.”

“That will never happen.” Sherlock said fiercely.

“Good,” John smiled, then drew Sherlock in for a kiss.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s waist, pulling them flush against each other as they kissed. John gasped into Sherlock’s mouth, but only deepened the kiss. John had one hand pressed against Sherlock’s chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat, and his other twisted into Sherlock’s curls. Sherlock tightened his arms around John, trailing his hand up John’s spine. John moaned and slid his tongue into Sherlock’s mouth teasingly. Sherlock responded in kind, and they fought for dominance, trailing their water-slicked hands over each other’s heated skin. 

John finally had to pull away, breathing heavily, but Sherlock merely slid his mouth to John’s neck. John moaned and clutched at Sherlock’s arms as the prince made a bright red love bite on his neck. The water rippled around them in tiny waves as Sherlock rubbed his erection against John’s stomach. John clutched Sherlock closer to him, and rubbed his own erection against the taller man’s thigh.

By the time Sherlock abandoned John’s neck, the soldier knew that the bright red mark that was presently there would become a rather lovely purple bruise by morning. He smiled up at Sherlock, but his smile faded when he saw the puzzled look on Sherlock’s face.

“Love?” John whispered. “What is it?”

“I—“ Sherlock’s voice cracked, and he cleared his throat before trying again. “I want this, John.” He whispered. “I want you . . .”

“But?” John asked, sensing that there was more that Sherlock wanted to say.

“But . . . If you don’t, I mean want me in the same way, then we don’t have to, I mean we can just – oomph!”

John rolled his eyes at Sherlock’s babbling and reached up to kiss the man before he could say anything else that was completely ridiculous. When they parted, Sherlock let out a soft “Oh!”

“I am standing here, with you, both of us naked with my cock pressed against your thigh,” John paused to make his point by rubbing his cock against Sherlock, making the prince shudder, “And you think that I don’t want you like this?”

Sherlock let out a shaky breath, and shook his head.

“Good,” John smiled. “Because right now, Mister Holmes, you and I are going to get out of the water, put our trousers on as best as we can, and return to the castle so that I can take you to bed.”

John had the satisfaction of watching Sherlock’s eyes darken with desire for a split second before the lanky git was practically dragging him out of the water. John giggled, high on adrenaline, and tried to get his trousers on. He finally managed to get them on, and then tugged his boots on before simply gathering the rest of his clothing. Sherlock seemed to have the same idea, and snatched John’s hand and dragged him back to the castle once they had all of their things. They giggled breathlessly as they rushed through the corridors, trailing sand and water behind them as they scurried to Sherlock’s room. When they finally got there, Sherlock closed and locked the door behind them then proceeded to press John against said door and kiss the giggles right out of him.

Sandy clothes fell to the floor and Sherlock and John toed out of their boots before helping each other strip out of their trousers. John kissed Sherlock once more before taking his hand and leading him to the bedroom. A fire had been made while they were out; the dancing flames cast a warm glow over the entire room. Sherlock pressed John back to lay against the pillows, then slipped something out of his bedside drawer before climbing up to straddle John’s waist. He smirked down at his lover and held up a small vial.

“Hm, what’s that?” John murmured, resting his hands on Sherlock’s thighs. 

“Oil,” Sherlock smiled. “I made it myself. Completely organic and non-toxic.”

John chuckled, his voice low. “You’ve been planning this for a while, haven’t you?”

Sherlock grinned and rocked his hips, causing his balls to brush teasingly over John’s cock. “Does that answer your question?”

John gasped, and nodded his head. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock and drew him down for a heated kiss. Sherlock continued to roll his hips agonizingly slow as his tongue dove into John’s mouth, making the shorter man cry out softly in pleasure. By the time they were both out of breath, Sherlock’s cock was leaking, and he wanted nothing more than to be on his back with John inside of him. John seemed to have the same idea, for after planting a sweet kiss on Sherlock’s lips, he rolled his lover over and knelt between his parted legs. Before handing John the vial, Sherlock lifted his hips and placed a small pillow under them.

“What’s that for?” John asked.

“Makes it easier, or so I’m told.” Sherlock murmured.

“Oh?” John asked. He rubbed his hands over Sherlock’s legs, hoping to make him as relaxed and as comfortable as possible before they began.

Sherlock nodded. “I did a bit of . . . research,” He mumbled.

“Research?” John echoed. “What kind of research?”

“One of the stable boys has a male lover, and I asked for some . . . tips.” Sherlock admitted. “He was rather enthusiastic about sharing the information.” He added.

John chuckled. “Well then, let’s not let that information go to waste,” He grinned, and held his hand out for the vial.

Sherlock smiled at John, and handed the vial over before relaxing back against the pillows. John pulled the cork out and tossed aside, pressing soft kisses to the inside of Sherlock’s knee as he coated his fingers. Sherlock spread his legs wider, and gasped when John brushed his slick fingers against his tight pucker.

“Shh, relax love,” John whispered over and over, never stilling his fingers. Sherlock willed his body to relax until John was able to press one finger inside. He winced at the initial burn, but that soon faded, and he was able to feel pleasure.

“O-oh!” Sherlock breathed. 

“Good?” John asked.

Sherlock nodded furiously, biting his bottom lip. “More,” He begged.

John slid his finger out, and added more oil before slipping two in. Sherlock grunted softly as he got used to the sensation, and then rocked his hips, drawing John’s fingers deeper inside of him. John went remarkably slow. He whispered soft endearments the entire time, and only proceeded when Sherlock stated that he was ready. John’s cock was flushed and leaking, but his priority was making sure that his lover was prepared enough so that there would be no pain when John finally made love to him. By the time he had four fingers inside of Sherlock, the prince was covered by a thin sheen of sweat, writhing before him, clutching the sheets and begging for John to take him. John used his free hand to tip the remaining oil onto his cock, coating himself generously before removing his fingers and hooking Sherlock’s knees over his hands.

“Ready?” He breathed.

“Please, John,” Sherlock begged. “I need you, now!”

John nodded, and slowly pushed his cock into Sherlock. When he had just the tip in, Sherlock gasped and grasped John’s arms.

“W-wait!” He gasped. John instantly stilled his hips, worried that he’d hurt his lover.

“Did I hurt you?” John worried.

“No,” Sherlock shook his head, his eyes closed. “You’re so big,” He whispered. “I just need to get used to . . . oh god!”

John smiled, and waited patiently until Sherlock nodded for him to continue. He thrust forward, and then let out a choked moan once he was fully inside of Sherlock.

“Fuck, Sherlock!” He gasped.

Sherlock rolled his hips impatiently. “John, move!” He begged.

John smiled, and grasped Sherlock’s hips as he slowly began to thrust. Sherlock wrapped his legs around John’s waist, drawing him as close as possible as they rocked together. The sensations were overwhelming. Between the tight heat of Sherlock around his cock, and the prince’s hands grasping his arms and trailing over every inch of him he could reach, John couldn’t even manage to speak. Sherlock was no different. Unable to make his desires vocal, he simply yanked John down and kissed him passionately. John moaned into his mouth and quickened his thrusts, causing a strangled moan to escape the prince’s lips.

Sherlock broke the kiss, gasping for breath as his hands scrambled for something to grab onto. He settled for fisting the sheets with one hand, and grasping his pillow with the other. John slid his hands down to grasp Sherlock’s hips, and snapped his own hips forward, quickening the tempo. Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly overcome by sensation and emotion.

“John! I can’t—It’s too . . .” Sherlock nearly sobbed.

“Shh,” John wrapped a hand around Sherlock’s cock and stroked him gently. “It’s okay love, let go, I’ve got you.”

Sherlock forced his eyes open and locked his gaze with John’s. The feeling of John inside of him and his hand on his cock, combined with the pure love he saw in John’s eyes made him tip over the edge and come, sending white ribbons across his stomach and torso. He grasped his pillow so tight his knuckles were white, and arched his back off of the bed. John thrust just a few more times before his hips stilled and he too came, letting out a grunt of pleasure. Sherlock trembled as he felt John’s come filling him up. It was unlike anything he’d ever imagined.

They both stayed as they were, unmoving as they caught their breath. After what seemed like hours, John gently pulled out of Sherlock and fetched a damp cloth to clean them both up a bit. Sherlock just lay on his back, staring up at the canopy, looking as if he’d melted into the bed. John slid back onto the bed with him and draped his arm over his stomach. He looked up at Sherlock’s face to see tears rolling down his cheeks and darkening the pillow covers.

“Sherlock?” John whispered. “Oh love, did I hurt you?” He worried.

Sherlock was shaking his head before John had even finished. He turned on his side to face John, and cupped his cheek.

“I’m happy,” He breathed. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt happier.”

John smiled at him and moved closer to Sherlock and kissed his cheeks, gently licking away his tears. Sherlock closed his eyes as John did so, allowing himself to calm down and focus all of his attention onto John. After a few moments, they moved under the blankets and John pulled is lover into his arms and played with his mused curls.

“I love you,” Sherlock whispered into John’s chest.

John kissed the top of Sherlock’s head. “And I you, my love.”

Sherlock smiled at the endearment and began to hum softly. He hummed a bit of the piece he was currently composing. It wasn’t finished, but he wanted John to hear some of it. John closed his eyes as he listened to Sherlock. The hand that was carding through his dark curls slowed, and then came to a complete stop as the soldier fell asleep. Sherlock glanced at John, and smiled when he saw that his love was fast asleep. The prince drew the blankets closer around them, and then too fell asleep, lulled by the sound of John’s heartbeat.

When morning came, John woke, spooned in front of Sherlock with the princes arm draped across his waist. He smiled and remained still until he felt soft kisses being pressed to the back of his neck. He stretched and rolled over, settling himself on top of Sherlock.

“Good morning,” John smiled.

“Hmm,” Sherlock slipped his hand to the back of John’s neck and drew him in for a kiss. The kiss was slow and lingering, allowing them to really enjoy it while still being wrapped in the warm cocoon of the bed sheets. After a few moments, Sherlock pulled away and rolled them over so he was above John. He then proceeded to kiss John again, a little harder this time, and John lay back, letting himself be kissed. When at last they parted, Sherlock drew his fingers down John’s neck to trace the love bite he’d made the night before.

“How does it look?” John asked.

Sherlock traced it again. “Gorgeous,” He breathed.

John chuckled and trailed his hands down Sherlock’s chest to rest on his hips. “As much as I want to stay in bed all day, we should probably get up.” He murmured.

“Getting up is boring,” Sherlock muttered, his lips brushing against John’s neck as he spoke.

John rolled his eyes and pushed Sherlock away gently. “Sherlock, we can’t hide in your room all day long,” He smiled.

“Fine,” Sherlock sighed. He sat up and straddled John’s thighs. “However, I have one condition to us getting up and out of this bed.”

“And what’s that?” John asked him.

Sherlock reached down and twined his fingers with John’s. “Move into my room,” Sherlock whispered. “I’m never letting you sleep somewhere I am not ever again.”

John giggled, and squeezed Sherlock’s hand. “Alright, love. But you have to help me move my things.” He countered.

Sherlock leaned down and kissed John softly.

“Agreed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap for Chapter 5 :D Comments are ALWAYS appreciated (hint hint). Sorry if there are any typos . . . I just wanted to get this up for all of you and I haven't really picked through it. I will eventually and fix any major errors :) If you spot one, don't hesitate to let me know!!!


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we start: I do not own BBC Sherlock or any of the characters belonging to it, nor do i own Showtimes, The Tudors or any of the characters belonging to it.
> 
> Enjoy :3

[Sherlock 18 John 20]

-Chapter Six-

Once Sherlock and John managed to finally tumble out of bed, they spent the better part of the morning moving all of John’s things into Sherlock’s chambers. The servants helped them move the bulky items, such as John’s trunks, his desk, and his clothes dresser, but most of it could be carried by hand.  By lunch, John’s previous room was empty, and all of his belongings were piled about Sherlock’s rooms and stacked precariously on all available flat surfaces. The two decided to leave everything be for the time being, and they had lunch together in front of the fireplace. As they ate, John decided to bring up something that Sherlock had been avoiding.

“Sherlock?” John asked.

“Hm?” The prince hummed as he munched on some fruit.

“What do you want for your birthday?” John asked pointedly.

Sherlock froze, and glanced at John before swallowing what was in his mouth. “I thought we went over this, I don’t want anything.” 

“Come on!” John groaned. “There must be something that you want!”

“Anything I could want, you have already given me,” Sherlock muttered, looking back down at his notebook.

John stared at him for a moment, and then his expression softened as he watched his lover. “You know, you really are a romantic, Sherlock.”

Sherlock smirked. “I’m anything but, John.” He protested lightly. 

“No, seriously,” John continued as he casually got up out of his chair. “You suggest we sneak out of the castle in the dead of night in order to go on a midnight swim with me,” He held up one finger as he kept track. “Said midnight swim turns into a rather pleasurable night for the both of us,” he put up a second finger as he rounded the table to stand beside Sherlock’s chair. “And, you practically begged me to move in to your room so that we would never have to sleep apart.” He sat on the arm of the chair and hooked a finger under the princes’ chin. “You, my love, are a romantic.”

“Well, when you put it that way,” Sherlock murmured, his voice low, “I sound like quite the lover,”

“Hush now,” John breathed, smirking. “Don’t let it all go to your head,” 

“Too late,” Sherlock grinned, then snaked his arm around John’s waist and drew him in for a kiss.  John smiled, and kissed him back eagerly.  When John pulled away for air, Sherlock merely slid his lips to his throat.

“You – ah – haven’t answered my question,” John gasped.  Sherlock pulled John’s shirt aside so he could nibble at his collarbone.

“I don’t want anything,” Sherlock murmured. “I already have you.”

John grasped Sherlock’s face and drew him back for a passionate kiss. Already, a plan was forming in the soldiers mind.  He suddenly knew of the perfect thing he could get Sherlock for his birthday.  He tucked the thought away for later so Sherlock wouldn’t deduce it. After the kiss, John returned to his chair and smiled at Sherlock.

“What?” Sherlock asked warily.

“Would you play something for me?” John asked, nodding to where Sherlock’s violin was resting by the window.

Sherlock smiled and closed his notebook. “What would you like to hear?” 

John shrugged. “Anything you like." 

“As you wish,” Sherlock stood and went over to his precious instrument. He spent a few moments tuning the strings, and then he rosined his bow and cradled the body of the violin between his chin and his shoulder.  He smiled at John, and then drew the bow across the strings.  John settled comfortably in his chair and watched Sherlock as he swayed from foot to foot, practically becoming one with the music. John always enjoyed watching Sherlock play, for when he did, the prince revealed a whole other side of himself. Gone was the man who could make any lord or lady break down into tears after his harsh deductions. In his place was a master of music and grace.  John closed his eyes, and simply enjoyed.

Unfortunately, with all the hustle and bustle of preparations, things wouldn’t remain so peaceful for long.

Two months later, Sherlock ventured into town with Lady Molly. John was busy, taking more lessons from his father as he worked on completing his training, and Sherlock wanted to escape from the constant planning of his birthday celebration. He didn’t care what color the tablecloths were, nor did he care about which songs he wanted played during the dancing.  As he wandered the castle, looking for a place to hide, he noticed that Molly looked rather bored, and offered a trip to town.  Molly brightened up instantly, and together, they left Baker Castle – with an escort, of course. They went to a local tavern and sat down to have something to eat . . . rather Molly ate, Sherlock just observed the people mulling about.  When they left, a ribbon store had caught Molly’s eye, and she begged Sherlock to wait while she ran inside quickly. 

“I won’t be a moment!” She begged.

“Go on,” Sherlock couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll wait out here.”

Molly grinned and went inside the shop.  Sherlock sat on a bench across the street and practiced his deductions.  He was just in the middle of observing a mother and her children when there was a loud crash. The building behind Sherlock was suddenly consumed by flames, and the prince found himself thrown to the ground from the force of the blast.  All around him, glass windows were shattering, and people were screaming and running for cover.  Sherlock groaned, and forced himself upright.  Just as he was getting vertical, Molly rushed out and came to his side.

“Prince Sherlock!” She gasped. “Are you alright?" 

“I’m fine,” Sherlock said, waving away her worries. 

Other than his dusty clothes, he was completely unharmed.  Still, the soldier escorting them urged that they return to the castle.  Sherlock complied, and he and Molly returned.  John met them at the front gate, and immediately began to fuss over Sherlock, looking him over for injuries and checking his pulse.

“I’m fine, John.” Sherlock assured him. “Just a few bruises.”

“Alright,” John said uneasily. He walked inside with Sherlock. “What happened?”

“No clue,” Sherlock huffed, running his hands through his hair to get rid of the dust and bits of debris. “Everything was fine, and then the next moment, boom!” 

“I hope no one was hurt,” John worried. “You need to tell your father about this.” He urged.

Sherlock’s jaw twitched. “I’ll write to Mycroft.” He said.  He then walked past John so that he could go and change his clothes.  John heaved a sigh, and followed.

The next three months flew by in a blur as the entire castle prepared for the young princes’ eighteenth birthday.  The explosion was all but forgotten, buried beneath the constant planning. Decorations were ordered, invitations were sent out, and entertainment was requested in order to make the celebration simply magnificent.  Sherlock was more than a little put-off by all of the attention he was getting, but John did his best to soothe the prince into just accepting it. 

“The sooner you give in, the sooner it’ll be over,” John had told him. Sherlock had merely scowled in reply.

When the sun set, though, the castle was different.  Instead of the mad bustling that consumed its inhabitants during the day, the night was full of peaceful silence.  During that blessed silence while everyone else was asleep, John and Sherlock spent their time exploring and learning one another, and themselves. At the end of a busy day, they’d merely peel their clothes off and tumble into bed together.  Some nights, they just slept right away, wrapped in each other’s arms, but most nights, they stayed up, accompanied only by the light of a few candles.

There would be little, or no words.  They didn’t need to speak in order to understand each other.  They communicated through soft touches, heated grasps, and the gasps and moans that escaped their lips.  They discovered what worked, and what did not.  Most importantly, the two fell more and more in love with one another.

Eventually, they would drift off to sleep.  When morning came, they would spend a little more time in bed than they used to.  They took this time to enjoy the warmth of the sheets, and the soft and sleepy caresses that came with the early sun.  Sometimes one would wake before the other to put together a surprise, and would slip back into bed before the other had the chance to miss them.

The morning of the celebration for instance, John had woken early to set out Sherlock’s gift.  He’d had it specially made just for the prince, a one of a kind.  He hung it up in the outer chamber so Sherlock would see it when he got up, and then the soldier snuck back into bed and cuddled beside his lover. By that time, Sherlock was just beginning to wake, and John smiled and rolled the prince onto his back.

“Morning,” Sherlock yawned as he stretched. 

John smiled, and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s neck. “Good morning, love.” He murmured.

Sherlock sighed, and brought John up for a proper kiss.  John led and kept the kiss slow, and Sherlock was more than happy to oblige.  When they parted, John brushed a curl away from Sherlock’s forehead. 

“I got you something,” John murmured. 

“I told you not to,” Sherlock muttered.

John silenced him with a kiss. “It is your eighteenth birthday, Sherlock Holmes. You are officially a man now. I got you a present. Two, actually, if you behave.”

“Two?” Sherlock demanded, his eyebrow quirking in curiosity.

John chuckled, and pulled the prince out of bed. “Come on, you lanky git.”

Sherlock groaned, but followed his lover out of the bedchamber and to the next room.  The fire was lit, but no one else was there.  Just as well, for the prince and the soldier were not fond of wearing anything to bed. The servants had learned quickly to avoid their chambers until late in the morning.  John stopped in the middle of the room, and turned to smile at Sherlock. Sherlock looked at John questioningly, and then caught sight of his gift.

The coat was magnificent.  Sherlock had never seen anything like it.  He stepped forward and brushed his hand against the shoulder.  It was made of charcoal grey wool, but the inside was lined with black silk. The collar was turned down at the moment, but Sherlock knew it would look better on him with the collar turned up. It was long, reaching past his knees and ending somewhere around mid-calf.  Sherlock turned around and wrapped his arms around John.

“I love it,” He whispered.

“I had it made just for you,” John said as he hugged the prince back. “I know it’s not quite cold enough for you to wear it yet, but—”

Sherlock silenced him with a kiss. “Thank you,” He smiled.

John smiled back and rested his hands on Sherlock’s hips. “You’re welcome, love.” John then stepped around Sherlock and held the coat out. “Try it on.”

Sherlock grinned, and turned to slide his arms into the sleeves. The coat slid on fluidly, and he flipped up the collar before buttoning the coat shut.  He turned around and posed for John. 

“Well, how does it look?” Sherlock asked.

“Perfect.” John smiled.

Sherlock smiled and drew the shorter man closer to press yet another soft kiss to his lips.  When they parted, he looked around. “And . . . the other present?” He hoped he didn’t sound too eager.

John laughed. “You’ll have to wait for your other present,” he told him.

“I’m not a patient man, John,” Sherlock warned.

John reached up so his lips were right beside Sherlock’s ear. “Oh, trust me,” He breathed. “It’ll be worth the wait.”

Sherlock groaned, but John merely smiled at him and set to dressing for the party. Sherlock stood there for a moment before doing the same.  After all, he was the guest of honor.  It would not do for him to be late to his own party.  His mother and father had even come down, as had his brother and Anthea. The prince dressed slowly, and was just putting his boots on by the time John was done.  Once he was fully dressed, he met John in the sitting room to find the soldier holding a fine wooden box in his hands.  John set it on the table and opened it without a word. Sherlock grimaced when he saw the silver crown nestled there in purple velvet.

“Do I have to?” He whined.

John gave him a sharp look, and then lifted the crown and placed it upon Sherlock’s curly head.  He straightened it, and then stepped back, smiling.

“You look perfect,” John smiled.

Sherlock merely groaned again, and took John’s hand and led him to the hall. John giggled as he followed him, and by the time they reached the hall doors, Sherlock was laughing too. The doors opened, and a lively fanfare began to play, announcing the princes’ arrival.  Everyone turned to bow and curtsey to him, and Sherlock did his best to keep a pleasant expression on his face, for John. John squeezed his hand encouragingly, and then the two made their way up to the head table while the guests cheered and clapped for the prince.  Charlotte came forward and embraced her youngest son.

“Oh Sherlock, look how you’ve grown!” She smiled at him. “Such a handsome young man.”

“Hello mummy,” Sherlock smiled a bit.  Other than John, only two other people could make him smile, Lady Hudson, and his mother. “I’m sure you remember John.” 

John stepped forward and bowed to the queen, “Milady,” He murmured.

“John dear,” The queen smiled as John straightened up. “It’s good to see you looking so well.  I became rather worried when Sherlock told me you’d been shot.” 

“Oh, that,” John nodded.  He rolled his shoulder. “Thank you for your concern, but I’m all better now.”

“That’s wonderful,” The queen smiled.  She then returned to her seat, and Sherlock reluctantly went to sit beside his brother. 

“Happy birthday, brother dear,” Mycroft said cordially.

Sherlock merely nodded his head.  John rolled his eyes and pinched the back of Sherlock’s hand.  The prince glared at his love, but turned back to his brother and said a proper thank you.

The first hour of the celebration was rather uneventful.  Guests were still arriving, and so the real entertainment had been postponed until everyone was present.  John noticed that Sherlock was terribly bored, and so he tapped him on the arm. 

“What is it, John?” Sherlock muttered.

John smiled, and nodded to the courtier that had just entered the hall. “Deduce him.” He whispered.

Sherlock glanced at John and grinned before spilling out his deductions. “He’s an up-and-coming Lord.” Sherlock murmured. “He’s the youngest of two . . . no, three boys, see how the hem of his cloak has been undone and trim added to it to make it longer?  He’s the tallest as well.  He keeps fiddling with the ring on his right hand . . . not yet comfortable in a court setting then.” Sherlock paused for a moment to observe the man again. “Not married. Either his parents have not yet found him a suitable partner, or he has no desire to be wed. My votes on the latter.”

“Brilliant,” John grinned. He looked around the hall until his gaze fell upon Lady Anthea’s ladies in waiting. “Do her next, the one with the red hair.” 

Sherlock looked at the lady John pointed out, and stared at her for a whole second before delving into his observations.  He barely paused to breathe as he listed out all that he could.

“She quite obviously fancies herself to be in love with me, and has yet to realize that I am rather spoken for.” Sherlock concluded his deductions. As if on cue, the red-haired lady glanced up at Sherlock flirtatiously, and kept her gaze on him.

“I can fix that,” John stated, a touch of steel in his voice.

“Can you?” Sherlock murmured, smiling to himself. 

John hooked a finger under Sherlock’s chin and turned the prince’s head to face him. He grinned, and then drew him in for a short, yet possessive kiss.  Out of the corner of his eye, John noticed the lady frown, and then turn away sharply. After giving Sherlock’s full lips one last nibble, he pulled away and slid his hand into the princes.

“Ooh, a jealous streak.” Sherlock murmured, sounding very pleased. John could practically hear the gears in his mind turning away.

“Shut up,” John muttered.

Sherlock smirked at John, and then rather casually asked, “Who’s next?” John had him deduce half a dozen more people before their attention was called to the first performance of the night.

Lady Anthea and her ladies performed a dance in honor of the young prince’s birthday. It was a lively dance, and Sherlock found himself smiling as he watched his sister-in-law skip around the hall merrily.  Next, Mycroft’s gentlemen presented a series of riddles that the Holmes brothers took turns solving. John smiled as he watched the two. He had no idea what the men were saying, but it all seemed to make perfect sense to the two princes. No matter how much they claimed to loathe each other, the one thing that neither of them could resist was a good puzzle. After a group of musicians performed a few pieces, King Richard stood, and bid the hall to quiet down.

“Welcome everyone, and thank you all for coming to celebrate my youngest sons eighteenth birthday!” He shouted.  The guests clapped and cheered, then settled down so the king could continue. “Before we bestow upon him his gifts, the Queen and I have a few special presents for our son.”

A page stepped came towards the high table, and stood before where Sherlock was sitting.  He had a wooden box in his hands, and he waited for the prince’s permission before setting it down on the table.  Sherlock sat forward, and glanced at John before opening his first present.

Nestled comfortably in black silk was a beautiful, yet old looking violin. Sherlock’s lips parted in surprise, and he ran his fingers across the strings reverently.  He picked up the bow, and smiled at its perfect balance.

“This violin once belonged to your grandfather,” Queen Charlotte explained to him. “Like you, he had quite the talent for the instrument. I know you already have your own violin, but it was his wish that I pass it along to whichever of my children possessed that same talent when they came of age.”

“It’s beautiful,” Sherlock murmured.  He rosined the bow quickly, and then picked up the violin and made a few experimental notes.  Smiling at the result, he replaced the instrument in its case. “Thank you,” He nodded to his mother.  She smiled at him, and then another page came forward, carrying a smaller box. Sherlock opened it, and found a silver signet ring with his initials engraved elegantly on it. This time, Richard spoke.

“Now that you are of age, it is only fitting that you have your own signet ring,” Richard explained.  As he spoke, he brushed his finger across his own ring. “It will display the authority you have that comes with your position as a prince of this kingdom.”

Sherlock nodded, but did not yet put the ring on. “Thank you,” He said shortly. John glanced at him, and recognized the hard look that filled Sherlock’s expression whenever he was interacting with his father.  He placed his hand on the prince’s forearm and squeezed comfortingly.

One by one, the courtiers and their pages came up to present gifts to the prince. He received a new saddle, books, and fine fabrics in order to have new clothes made.  Lady Molly had embroidered him a new handkerchief. Lady Hudson had baked him some treats that had already been sent to his rooms.  Finally, at the end of the line, John’s father stepped forward. 

“Dr. Watson,” Sherlock inclined his head. “Stubbornness must run in the family,” He glanced at John. “I told you that a gift was not necessary.”

David chuckled. “I know,” He nodded. “But I couldn’t resist.”

He stepped forward, and handed Sherlock a leather-bound book. It was rather large, and Sherlock glanced at the doctor before undoing the ties and opening it up. Immediately his eyes lit up.

“I know how much you enjoy running those experiments of yours,” David began. “And I thought this encyclopedia of plants and poisons would be of assistance. You can unbind the book and add your own pages if you like.  The man who made it lives in town and informed me that he’d be happy to rebind it if you are ever in need of his services.” 

“This is amazing,” Sherlock breathed.  He finally tore his eyes away from the book. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome, your grace.” David bowed, and went back to moseying around the hall.

John had to practically pry the book out of Sherlock’s hands so that the prince could return his attention to the celebration that was being held in his honor. Everyone was pressed against the walls as servants carried out tables and benches when Sir Lestrade came forward.

“Gavin, what is it?” Sherlock asked. 

“It’s Greg,” Lestrade reminded the prince irritably for the hundredth time. John coughed into his sleeve, concealing his laughter. “Shut up, John.” He snapped.  This only made the blond man giggle even harder. Lestrade rolled his eyes and looked back at the prince. “And you seem to have missed a present.” The Knight held up a moderately sized box.

“Who is it from?” Sherlock asked.

Lestrade shrugged. “There’s no name.”

Sherlock’s brows furrowed, and he waved Lestrade forward and took the box from him. The hall had gone deathly quiet as the prince turned the box this way and that, trying to deduce who had possibly given it to him.  John watched over his shoulder.

“Who would bring a gift and not put their name on it?” John wondered.

“Who indeed?” Sherlock muttered.  He trailed his finger against the paper that was wrapped around the box, but could not detect a texture distinct enough to determine the place of origin. Frustrated, he ripped the paper off, revealing a simple wooden box.  Before he touched the box, he observed all of the details.

“Anything?” John asked.

“This wood comes from the North . . . possibly the north-east.” Sherlock murmured. “Since it’s been stained it’s harder to place . . . but the wood grain is characteristic of northern woods.” 

“That doesn’t necessarily mean that the person who gave it to you comes from the north,” John muttered.

“Indeed,” Sherlock agreed.  He sat up, and lifted the lid of the box.  An envelope was set atop a bundle of fabric, and Sherlock lifted it up. “A woman’s handwriting,” He murmured. “The ink is from the north as well,”

“Perhaps the wood is a clue, after all?” John offered.

“Perhaps,” Sherlock nodded, then turned the letter over to look at the seal. His brows furrowed. The seal was of a magpie in flight, but other than that there were no distinctive features.  The wax was a very common type that could be found practically anywhere, so Sherlock focused on the seal itself.  It wasn’t from one of the families at court . . . so he had no clue who it belonged to.  Grumbling to himself, he cracked the seal and opened the letter.  His eyes scanned the page swiftly as he read, and his brows furrowed when he came to the end of it.  Wordlessly, he handed the note to John.

_Hello Gorgeous,_

_I’ve sent you a little puzzle, just to say ‘hi.’  I hope I didn’t startle you with that explosion a few months ago. I can get a little excited sometimes. I’ll be in touch with you soon._

There was a bright red lipstick kiss at the bottom of the note where a signature would usually be found.  John frowned and looked at Sherlock.

“The explosion?” He whispered.

Sherlock was already nodding. “The same one that occurred when Lady Molly and I were in town,”

John glanced worriedly at the box, and watched as Sherlock reached to remove the fabric covering whatever the gift was.

“Be careful,” John warned him silently. “We’re dealing with a bomber,”

Sherlock nodded, and slowly pulled the cloth away.  Just as the gift was revealed, the doors to the hall slammed open, making everyone jump.  A page was rushing into the hall, and he had a note in his hand.

“What is the meaning of this?” King Richard demanded.

The page bowed to the high table, then looked at the young prince. “I have a letter for Prince Sherlock,” The page said.

Sherlock and John exchanged glances, and then the prince waved the page forward. The boy came forward slowly, and held the note out for the prince.  Sherlock hesitated for a moment, letting his eyes sweep over his trembling frame before leaning forward to take the note.  The page then, quite literally, ran out of the hall. Sherlock showed John the seal.

“The magpie,” John breathed.

Sherlock nodded, and cracked the seal to reveal the new note.

_Carl laughed at me. So I stopped his laughter._

That was it, no greeting, and no red lipstick kiss.  Sherlock’s eyes widened, and he stood so quickly that his chair scraped loudly against the floor.  He peered into the box, and was still.

“Sherlock?” Queen Charlotte asked. “Darling, what is it?”

Sherlock ground his teeth, and thrust the two notes in the king’s direction. Richard glanced at his son before taking the notes and reading them.  In the meantime, Sherlock had reached into the box and pulled out the gift.

“...Shoes?” John asked skeptically. 

“Not just any shoes,” Sherlock murmured. He leaned towards John and showed him the family crest that was embroidered on the inside of the shoe. 

“That’s the crest of the Powers family,” John whispered. 

“Exactly.” Sherlock nodded, then turned to look at his father. The King had visibly paled, and stared at his youngest son, his mouth open in shock. 

“It can’t be,” Richard breathed.  Sherlock held the shoes up and practically glared at the king.

“Do you believe me now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taa-daa, that's a wrap for Chapter 6. I'll admit, it's not my best, but I'm tired of mulling over it and getting nowhere. So I'm just gonna leave it here, and move on.
> 
> Psst: Comments are greatly appreciated...I love comments ^.^


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we start: I do not own BBC Sherlock or any of the characters belonging to it, nor do i own Showtimes, The Tudors or any of the characters belonging to it.
> 
> Enjoy :3
> 
> Heads up, lots of smut here. If it's not your thing, I advise you look elsewhere. If it is, then read on. :)

[Sherlock 18; John 20]

-Chapter Seven-

_“Do you believe me now?”_

Richard stared at his youngest son for a few long moments. Finally, he stood, and approached Sherlock, looking rather tentative.  He placed his hand on his sons shoulder, and whispered a quiet apology. Sherlock nodded his head curtly, and then the king returned to his seat and was silent.  Mycroft noticed that the king had become rather distant from the celebrations, and so he stood and took over command. He had the servants continue to prepare the hall for the banquet, and before long, everyone had sat down, and food was heaped onto every table.

During the banquet, the prince hardly touched his food.  He shoved things back and forth on his plate, and his mind was far away.  John noticed, and paused in his eating to place his hand over Sherlock’s, effectively pulling him out of his mind palace.

“Sherlock?” John asked. “You alright?”

“No,” Sherlock muttered. “How could I not have seen this? How could Moriarty have slipped through, unnoticed by _me_?!?”

“Hey,” John squeezed his hand, and the prince turned to look at him. “Would you do me a favor?" 

“What?” Sherlock asked.

“Just for tonight, forget about it.” Sherlock looked sharply at him, but John calmly continued, “Forget about Moriarty, forget about his psychopathic tendencies, just . . . forget.” John whispered. “Tonight is about you, it’s about celebrating you.  Don’t let him ruin it.”

Sherlock stared at his other half for a moment before heaving a sigh and nodding. He twined their fingers together, and was determined to enjoy the rest of the party, for John’s sake, if for nothing else. John kissed the back of his hand, and then resumed eating.  To the soldiers’ surprise, Sherlock even ate a little bit. 

After everyone had eaten, Mycroft stood and clapped his hands twice. Servants moved forward and moved the tables away once again.  With a nod from the Crowned Prince, the musicians picked up their instruments and began to play a lively tune.  Sherlock grinned and stood before turning to John, holding out his hand.

“Care to dance?” Sherlock asked, smiling devilishly.

John sighed. “You just love taking me out of my comfort zone, don’t you?”

“Please John?” Sherlock batted his eyes at the soldier. “It is my birthday after all." 

John rolled his eyes, and took Sherlock’s hand.  The prince smiled in triumph as he led John to the center of the floor. John didn’t mind dancing; he just didn’t like doing it in front of a large group of people.  As they stood across from each other, waiting for the music to start, John glared at Sherlock.  The music finally started, and they bowed to each other before starting the dance.

“You know I hate dancing in front of people,” John muttered as they danced.

“I can hardly see why, you’re an excellent dancer, John,” Sherlock responded, flashing his love a charming smile. 

“You are so lucky I love you,” John sighed.

Sherlock laughed, and then pulled John close as another dance started. Other couples joined them on the floor, and John managed to relax a bit now that they weren’t the center of attention.

“I’ve received one more gift that wasn’t announced tonight,” Sherlock said conversationally as they danced.

“Oh?” John asked, looking up at him.

Sherlock nodded, then pulled John away from the center of the hall so that they could have some privacy.  John followed him, as he always did.

“Next week, we’re going to Diogenes Castle,” Sherlock began.

“Oh, we are?” John asked.

Sherlock nodded. “Once we get there, we are going to attend a very important ceremony.”

John looked at him questioningly. “What ceremony?” He asked slowly.

Sherlock took a deep breath and smiled at John. “Your ceremony. I’ve spoken to my father and brother, and you are to be given the title of Sir John Watson, Knight of Baskerville for the bravery and loyalty you demonstrated during the war.”

John’s eyes widened, and his mouth fell open as he stared up at Sherlock. For many long moments, he didn’t say anything.  He couldn’t even find the words to describe how he felt.  Finally he managed to find his voice.

“A-A _Knighthood_?” John breathed. “For _me_?”

Sherlock chuckled and kissed John’s forehead. “Yes, my love, for you.”

“But . . . how is this a gift for you?” John asked, completely confused.

“It makes me happy to see you happy,” Sherlock said, shrugging. “And you deserve this, John. More than anyone.” 

Tears came to John’s eyes, and he threw his arms around Sherlock, hugging him tightly.  Sherlock chuckled, and hugged John back. 

“You’re welcome,” Sherlock murmured.

John pulled away and kissed Sherlock lovingly. “You ridiculous man,” He laughed. “This is beyond unbelievable.  Thank you so much.”

“As I said, you deserve it,” Sherlock smiled at him.

John grinned, suddenly feeling very giddy, and took Sherlock’s hand and led him back to the center of the hall for another dance.  Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him, but John merely grinned, and pulled the prince close as they danced.

After a few more dances, Sherlock returned to the high table, but John decided to catch up with some old friends.  The musicians struck up another tune, and couples swirled around the dance floor, laughter filling the air.  Sherlock was at the high table, speaking with his mother, and John was wandering around the hall, speaking to his friends as he met them.  At exactly eleven, he sought out Lady Molly.

“Lady Molly, could you do me a favor?” He asked her silently.

“Of course John, what is it?” She asked.

John pulled a letter out of his pocket and handed it to her. “At precisely midnight, give this to Sherlock.”

Molly smiled knowingly and slipped the note into her own pocket. “And what shall I say if the prince should notice your absence before then?” She asked.

John thought for a minute before responding. “Tell him that I just needed some fresh air.  If he tries to come and find me, insist that I told you I needed some alone time away from the noise of the party.”

“Alright,” She nodded.  She squeezed his hand, and then melted back into the party.  John took a deep breath, and then made sure that Sherlock wasn’t watching him before slipping out of the hall.  His departure went unnoticed, and he smiled to himself as he made his way towards his and Sherlock’s chambers.

He’d been planning this for months now, and part of him was a little nervous about actually doing it.  Still, it was the best thing he could think to get for Sherlock, and so he shook his head, squared his shoulders, and stepped into their chambers. Everything was just as he had requested. When he was certain that there was no chance of Sherlock returning to their rooms, John had had a few servants carry the boxes he needed into their rooms.  He found the boxes now, sitting beside his desk.  He carried them one by one into their bedchamber, and then set to work. He kept an eye on the clock as he did, making sure that he had everything in place by the time Sherlock arrived.

Back in the hall, Sherlock had no idea that John had left the celebration. His full attention was on his mother, so little else mattered at the moment.  It wasn’t until a quarter until midnight that he noticed his other half was absent.  He excused himself from the high table, and moseyed around the hall, wondering if John was tucked away in a nook, speaking with one of his friends.  When he couldn’t find him, he sought out Lady Molly. 

“Oh, hello there, Prince Sherlock.” Molly said brightly, a little too brightly, Sherlock noted. 

“Hello Lady Molly,” Sherlock inclined his head. “Would you happen to know where John is?”

He noticed Molly glance at the clock quickly before supplying her answer. “He stepped out for a bit of fresh air just a few moments ago,” She said innocently. “He said he wanted a little alone time.”

“Oh,” Sherlock nodded.

John was known to do that from time to time, so he didn’t sense anything amiss. The musicians started a new song, and although Sherlock would have rather danced with John again, he offered his hand to Lady Molly, who happily obliged. He normally enjoyed dancing, but at the moment, his mind was somewhat preoccupied with trying to figure out where John had disappeared.

At the end of the dance, he bowed to Lady Molly, and was about to move on when she grasped his wrist.  He turned to look at her, but she merely smiled at him and handed him a letter just as the grand clock chimed midnight.  She left him without a word, and he moved to the side of the hall where he had a little privacy before opening the note.  He immediately recognized the detailed JHW wax seal holding the letter closed. It was from John.

_My love,_

_Come to our room, I have a gift for you._

_-John_

Sherlock took a deep breath, and slipped the letter into his pocket. He glanced around, and then escaped out of the hall when he was certain no one was watching him. He walked through the corridors he knew so very well until he reached his and John’s room.  He paused outside the door, and took a deep breath before entering. Just to be safe, he locked the door behind him.

“John?” He called.  He looked around the sitting room, but John wasn’t there.  There was, however, a note addressed to him lying on the table.

_You’re getting warmer_. _You may be more comfortable with less clothing on._

Sherlock set the note down, and stood still for a moment before silently undoing the ties of his doublet.  He laid it on the table, and removed the rest of his clothes and folded them beside his doublet just as quietly.  Finally, he lifted his crown off the top of his head and placed it gently atop his linen shirt. Once he was completely nude, he stepped into the next room where his and John’s desks and bookshelves were. Waiting on his desk, was another note sitting atop a bundle of midnight blue silk.

_I was right, wasn’t I? You are much warmer now, though you may want to try this on for size._

Sherlock set the note down, and then picked up the silk.  It unfurled in his hands, revealing it to be a robe-like garment. Sherlock slid it on and wrapped the silver cord his waist to hold the silk closed, but noticed that the sheer fabric did little to hide his nakedness or his very obvious arousal. He glanced around the room, and saw that the door to their bedchamber was askew.  One final note was pinned to the wood.

_You’re burning, as am I_. _Come and join me, my love._

Sherlock set all the notes on his desk, and then took a breath. He opened the door to their bedchamber, and promptly forgot how to breathe.

Their room had been transformed into a tent of silk.  Colorful scarves were pinned up against the walls and were draped across every available surface.  Some had even been pinned to the rafters, creating a soft, billowing ceiling. Sherlock’s eyes roamed across the room, taking in every single detail until his gaze landed upon their bed. The thick curtains had been removed and replaced with sheer, flowing, purple silk.  He could just make out the silhouette of John, but the constant shifting of the silk made it hard for him to see the details. 

Sherlock closed and locked the bedroom door behind him, and walked slowly to the side of the bed.  His silk robe swished against the floor and the other scarves decorating it.  He stood there for a moment before trapping the edge of the purple silk with his fingertips, and slowly drawing it aside.

The bed was covered in silks, and in the center of it was his lover. John lay on his back, his eyes fixed on Sherlock.  He was wearing a robe similar to the princes, though instead of being midnight blue, John’s was crimson with a gold cord holding it shut.  The soldier lay with one leg drawn up a bit, letting Sherlock appreciate the slight curves and toned muscles of John’s figure.  He had one hand resting on the pillow beside his head, and the other on his stomach.  Sherlock reached out, and trailed a finger from John’s temple, all the way down to where the crimson silk folded over itself.  John shivered, and reached out to grasp Sherlock’s hand.  He twined their fingers together.

“Tonight,” John breathed, finally breaking the silence. “I am yours to do with as you wish,” 

Sherlock let the purple silk fall closed behind him as he climbed up onto the bed and straddled John’s waist.  He kissed John’s knuckles, and glanced down at him.

“All mine to do with as I please?” He whispered, smiling a bit.

John chuckled low. “Whatever you want,” He purred.

Sherlock smiled, and released John’s hand.  He placed his hands on the soldier’s silk-covered shoulders, and drew them down his arms until he could grasp his wrists and pin them to the pillow beside his head. John gasped softly and arched his back, wanting to be physically closer to Sherlock.  The Prince smiled down at him, and then wordlessly granted his request by pressing his chest flush against John’s and claiming his lips.

Sherlock kept John pinned down against the mattress as they kissed. John pressed up against him, mouth insistent, but he never fought it.  He let Sherlock lead the kiss, but returned it with just as much heat and passion. He reveled in the sensation of the silk against his heated skin, of the steady weight of Sherlock on top of him, their cocks trapped between their bodies.  When Sherlock broke the kiss, John’s breaths turned into gasps and moans as his lover trailed his lips down John’s neck, biting gently every so often. Never letting his lips leave John’s skin, Sherlock transferred John’s wrists to one hand.  His free hand slipped down the blond man’s chest, nails scraping as he did, making John let out a strangled moan. 

“Like that?” Sherlock purred.

“God yes,” John gasped.

Sherlock smirked, and sucked hard on a sensitive spot on John’s neck. John arched up against him, and Sherlock used this to distract John as he deftly untied the gold cord and slipped it out from around his waist.  Nibbling on that same spot, Sherlock drew the cord up, and swiftly tied it around John’s wrists. He tested it, making sure John could slip his wrists free if needed, and then tied it to the headboard. Sherlock kissed the mark he’d made, and then sat up, smiling at the image he saw.  Only then did John realize what he’d done.

“Oh,” He breathed.  He tugged gently, just testing the length of the cord, and then relaxed back against the pillows.

“Hm, you like this.” Sherlock whispered, touching the cord. “You just got harder.” 

“So I did,” John breathed, smirking.

“Is it alright? Nothing hurting?” Sherlock asked. “Your shoulder?”

“It’s fine,” John answered. “More than fine,” To emphasize his point, John rolled his hips, rubbing his very hard cock against Sherlock’s arse.

Sherlock smiled down at him, then pushed the crimson silk apart, revealing John’s strong chest.  The prince trailed his hands across his skin, letting his thumbs brush against the soldiers’ nipples. John shivered, and let out a sigh. Sherlock repeated the motion, then suddenly bent down and captured one dusky bud between his lips.

“Oh fuck!” John gasped.

Sherlock hummed, and sucked gently.  He continued to play with John’s other nipple by rubbing it with his fingers. The prince then kissed his way across John’s chest, and took the other bud into his mouth.  Beneath him, John was trembling and mumbling incoherently. His eyes were squeezed shut, and every now and then, he’d bite his bottom lip.  Sherlock glanced up at him through his lashes, and hummed contently, pleased with what he saw.

Sherlock kept sucking on John’s nipple as his hands snaked down to push the silk all the way apart.  He could feel how hard John was, and suddenly an idea popped into his head.  He moved his lips down John’s body and settled between his legs. Then, without warning, he took the tip of John’s cock in his mouth and sucked hard.

“ _Oh my god Sherlock_!!” John cried out. 

His back arched off of the bed, but Sherlock’s firm hands kept his hips in place. He then sucked slowly, wanting to draw this out for as long as possible.  He swirled his tongue slowly around the head, and then licked from root to tip. John threw his head back, muttering obscenities with Sherlock’s name mixed in between. Sherlock gave John’s cock one more delectable suck, and then pulled off with an audible pop.  While John was gasping against the bed, trying to regain his breath, Sherlock leaned over and plucked a vial of oil off of the nightstand. He already knew that the drawer was full of identical little vials.  John had planned well.

“Sherlock Holmes you are a cruel man,” John groaned, arching his hips to try and get some kind of friction against his still-hard arousal.

Sherlock lifted himself up on his knees as he coated his fingers. “All in good time, my love,” He murmured, smirking. 

Sherlock drew the end of his sheer robe over to one side, and then reached behind, pushing a slick finger into himself.  The prince threw his head back and groaned, working his fingers quickly inside of him.  When he had three fingers in, he glanced down at John to see him watching with eyes darkened with passion. Sherlock smiled to himself, and then pulled his fingers out and positioned himself over his lover. Keeping his eyes locked on John’s, he slowly lowered himself down, moaning as he drew John’s cock into his body. Once he was fully sheathed, Sherlock paused for a moment, his breaths coming in short gasps and pants.

“Oh John,” He whispered, placing his hands on John’s chest to steady himself.

“Ngh,” John groaned, thrusting his head back into the pillows. His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms as he was unable to grasp anything. Sherlock chuckled breathlessly and slowly, tortuously rocked his hips.

“Oh yes,” Sherlock hissed, closing his eyes and letting his head drop. He rocked his hips quickly a few times, and then slowed down again to look down at John.

“God, Sherlock.” John breathed.

Sherlock leaned down to kiss him deeply. “Tonight,” He whispered against his lips. “I am going to take you apart,” He kissed John’s neck. “Bit by delectable bit.”

John moaned and pressed into Sherlock’s touch.  The prince smiled, and then suddenly clenched and began rocking his hips again, drawing out, from his lover, a cry filled with pleasure. Though he was enjoying the image of John laid out beneath him, hands tied over his head, Sherlock desperately needed John to touch him.  With a growl of frustration, Sherlock quickly leaned forward and tugged the cord until it came undone. As soon as the cord had gone slack, John’s hands were all over him, touching, stroking, _feeling_.  Sherlock moaned and ground down against him.

“Fuck yes!” Sherlock panted, closing his eyes.  John planted his feet on the bed and thrust into Sherlock, grasping his hips to keep him in place.  Sherlock keened and fell against John’s chest, going a bit boneless as John moved inside him.

Suddenly, John grasped Sherlock’s hips hard enough to leave bruises, and quickly rolled them over, his cock still deep inside of Sherlock. Sherlock gasped in surprise, then grinned up at his lover.  The prince snaked his arms around John’s chest and drew him into a bruising kiss.

“Fuck me, John.” Sherlock pleaded against the soldiers’ lips.

John groaned and quickly snapped his hips forward.  Sherlock cried out in pleasure and grasped onto the headboard with one hand to brace himself as John began to fuck him in earnest. Their words had dissolved into nothing as they were reduced to breathless panting.  Sherlock moaned loudly as John hit that sweet spot inside of him, and grasped his lovers’ arms tightly as if he were the only thing anchoring him down.  He tightened his grip, digging his fingernails into John’s arms, warning the soldier that he was close to his climax.  This only spurred John on, and he quickened his thrusts.  Sherlock arched away from the bed and howled as he came hard across his stomach and chest.  John thrust only a few more times before he too came deep inside of his lover.  They remained as they were for long moments as they caught their breath before John collapsed beside Sherlock.

“And how was that, my love?” John breathed, snaking his arms around the prince, not caring about the mess of come decorating his skin.

“Hmm,” Sherlock hummed, smiling. “A brilliant way to start the night,”

John chuckled, and sat up so he could kiss Sherlock tenderly. The prince pulled away after a while, and pushed John onto his back.  John smiled and settled back against the pillows as he watched his lover. Sherlock kissed the center of John’s chest and looked up at him from beneath his long dark lashes.

“Oh the things I have planned for you,”

********

Many hours later, when the sun was just beginning to rise in the sky, the two of them lay together on their bed, cradled in their nest of silks. They’d spent the better part of the night entwined in each other’s arms.  Sherlock took his time with the gift John had given him and had explored every single inch of his beloved.  John had returned the favor by loving Sherlock in every way he could. They’d made love until they couldn’t keep their eyes open any longer, and after a brief rest, they’d woken and made love again and again.  Now, they lay cuddled together, watching the sunrise over the ocean through the open window.

John was leaning against the headboard, and Sherlock had his head tucked against John’s shoulder.  The prince had his arm draped across John’s waist, and his leg hooked over his lovers’. John had his arm wrapped around Sherlock’s shoulder, and his fingers traced lazy swirls over his pale skin. 

“I love you,” Sherlock murmured against John’s neck.

John smiled and kissed the top of his head. “I love you too,” He breathed.

They lay in silence for a while, their soft breaths the only sound in the room. As the sky brightened, Sherlock sat up a bit to look at John. 

“How did you decide to give me this?” He murmured, placing his hand on John’s chest, right over his heart. “To give me you?”

John smiled and placed his hand over Sherlock’s. “Months ago, you told me that you didn’t want anything for your birthday, that you already had me.”

Sherlock’s eyes glazed over a bit, but John waited patiently, knowing that the prince was sifting through his mind palace, revisiting the memory. Sherlock then looked back at John, his gaze full of wonder.

“You remembered that?” He whispered.

John’s brows furrowed. “Of course I did.” He responded. “I may not have a memory palace, but I can manage to remember everything about you.” 

“Hmm,” Sherlock smiled. “You know I can teach you how to make your own mind palace,” He offered, grinning.

John chuckled. “One mind palace between the two of us is quite enough, don’t you think?”

“I suppose so,” Sherlock said, chuckling a bit with John. 

John looped his arm around Sherlock’s neck. “Come here you ridiculous man,” He said fondly, drawing the prince in for a kiss. 

Sherlock gasped in surprise, but quickly responded to the kiss, pressing against John and opening his lips for him.  Their tongues danced together until they both broke away, gasping for air. John kissed him once more, softer this time, and then pulled Sherlock against his chest.  Sherlock smiled, listening to John’s heartbeat, content to remain there for the rest of the day.  His smile widened when he felt John’s lips on his hair. 

“Happy birthday, love,” John whispered.

“Yes,” Sherlock agreed. “Happy birthday indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well it certainly took me a while to get chapter seven up, didn't it? I've been busy with school, and this chapter was a bit harder for me to write. Well, it's up now. I hope you enjoyed it!!
> 
> Comments are greatly appreciated!!!


	8. Author's Note

Hello my readers,

I just want to pop in and say I have NOT abandoned this fic. I know it's been like, over two months since i last updated. Starting this semester of college has been rougher than usual, and I'm struggling to get a routine down, so as of right now, this fic is on hiatus until i can get this semester under control. I just have really whacky hours and two classes where the material is frighteningly similar and i'm having trouble keeping the two separate. So I have not vanished, I am still here, and I still do work on this fic occasionally . . . so yeah, that's all.

-JMW

 

(As always, this authors note will be deleted once the next chapter is uploaded.  Toodles!)


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